


Implicit Echoes

by LaLa13



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Battery City, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Dystopia, Ferard, Frerard, M/M, MCR, Minor Character Death, Taverns, my chemical romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLa13/pseuds/LaLa13
Summary: It should’ve been pathetic how it only took one look from the cocky bastard and Ghoul was back to being that sixteen year-old boy in the slums of Battery, lost and afraid and, against all better judgment, falling for the vibrant boy who turned his world upside down.But Ghoul’s always been weak for Poison, so what’s changed really?





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dreamt a scene form this story and I woke up and had to write it. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got too long so it's going to be a two chapters story, maybe three. I hope you like it.

Ghoul wasn't desert-born. He was city-born and bred, and when his mind would go back to his days at that god awful city, he would shudder, close his eyes and force himself to focus on the here and now.

God, he had hated that place.

He tended not to think about it often. At first, he used to have a panic attack whenever he so much as saw a Drac in their tavern. He's come to forget with time, memories tended to do that sometimes, blur and blend until they're so hazy you can't tell which is which, but they were still there, buried underneath it all.

He had been sixteen when he was finally out. He didn't like to go back to the details of that night much, but he still had to remind himself that he was under the hot desert sun, walking on over the boiling sand he loved too much, far more times than he would've liked. It was especially tricky when he'd  wake up in the middle of the night, panting and sweating, thinking he was back to the slums of the city, a child, alone, shivering and starving. He had a different name back then too, but that all was gone now.

Desert-borns, he's come to realize in his years living in the Zones, tended to look down on people like him. City-borns were weak, they'd say, couldn't stand the blistering sun or the heat. It was true, he had to go through painful adjustments at first, the damn controlled weather of Battery having never allowed his body to function normally in the unbearable heat before, neither the city food nor its water were even the same. He's starved his first days here, but he could tell the food was different, even the water, because they were cleaner, more natural.

Ghoul didn't have a crew. Well, not a crew in the sense desert-borns liked to use anyway. When a desert-born would tell you they were running with their crew, that usually meant cars and motorcycles, spending their nights around a fire and sleeping in the sand. It meant masks and sleeping in a different ruin every few nights, trying to ruin anything BLI would be planning as best as they could.

No, Ghoul knew he wouldn't have survived a similar life. God knew he loved the desert, but he opted for a different lifestyle the minute he had to choose.

See, Ghoul has come to the realization that what both BLI and the Zonerats agreed on was that they all needed to recharge somehow, unwind and rest for a while. That task used to fall on the distal bars and underground clubs at the boarders of Battery where security tended to be low in the slums. Illegal clubs tended to flourish there, becoming a neutral ground for both Dracs and Runners, but there were always Runners who didn't like to get into city walls, neutral grounds or no neutral grounds. Ghoul decided to give those a different choice, and so taverns like his were born. Ghoul's was the first, thank you very much.

The tavern was neutral ground, that had been the first thing Ghoul had announced to anyone who'd get in, from Dracs to Runners, even to Scarecrows. It was different from the clubs back in Battery's slums by also having places to spend he night too; most Runners tended not to, fearing to stay more than a few hours, but sometimes they had to when they were cut off from their crews for some reason or the other. Dracs did too.

Ghoul has loved his tavern since he had first laid eyes on the ruined building. He had no idea he was going to turn it into this place, he was glad he had a place to crash for a few nights, but then a group of Runners had followed him there and they started gathering momentum the minute they started exchanging stuff they've stolen before leaving Battery. The place had flourished in no time and became some sort of bazaar to exchange city tech, alcohol and whatever anyone managed to get out with them with the passing crews.

Ghoul had known the place wouldn't last long. Things would've died down eventually, once people ran out of things to trade and everyone realized it was useless to stay. It was then that the idea for the tavern's come to him. Not a lot of people had stayed behind, preferring to join crews or form their own. Ghoul, with a few others, have stayed and never looked back since.

...

Acid Washed had nodded to him that morning when he made it down. The place was calm, empty safe for a couple Dracs and one Runner sleeping in the rooms upstairs, but no one was down yet. It wasn't unusual though, people, if they could help it, tended to either travel in the early morning or twilight to escape the hottest times of day, and so the tavern was usually empty at those hours. 

Ghoul liked those times of the morning best, when the bar would be empty and no one was around but him and whoever had the morning shift. He'd go on his rounds and make sure everything was still intact from the night before (you wouldn't believe how many Dracs, _and_ Runners, are there who didn't understand the meaning of neutral zone once they were hammered enough), and check on their supplies, see if anything needed replacing or freshening.

...

The tavern was crowded that evening that Ghoul could barely walk around to make his usual rounds. It was mostly Runners though and so the atmosphere was a lot calmer and joyful even. He liked when that happened.

Everyone greeted him with a smile and a nod. He knew everyone. Runners always ended up at his tavern one way or the other, and the tavern being in Zone One had made it a safe place for anyone escaping the city to stay there for a while until they could find a crew or decided what they needed to do. Ghoul's tavern was famous for cutting those some break, not charge them for the first few nights until they gathered themselves enough.

"I'll be damned," he mumbled under his breath and whistled once he was sure enough who was sitting on one of the furthest tables from him. 

That got his attention, and he looked at him before a wide grin appeared on the visible part of his face. Ghoul knew he wouldn't have mistaken that bright red hair on anyone else.

Party Poison stood up immediately and walked to him. He stood a few feet away, visibly hesitating on going any further. Ghoul didn't really care at the moment if Poison's usual overthinking was taking over his brain, he hadn't seen the bastard in months so he walked to him and hugged him, telling him as such.

"You look good, Ghoul." Poison said too sincerely for Ghoul to call him on his shit. Thankfully, it was then that Jet Star is decided to step in and Ghoul just threw himself on him instead.

Poison's stood aside, watching, his eyes secure behind his yellow mask, and yet Ghoul still could read him better than anyone and he knew he got him when he smiled.

Ghoul smirked, "Where're the rest of you, Killjoys? Kobra still owes me carbons."

It was then that Kobra Kid decided to make an appearance too and he hugged Ghoul like he hadn't seen him in ten years.

"You're forgetting I won those," he corrected offhandedly and Ghoul rolled his eyes at him at the same time.

...

"Brooding doesn't become you, Poison."

Ghoul found himself saying to the Killjoy trying to shine the crew's famous Trans Am with a peace of cloth behind the tavern. He's noticed him gone a few minutes earlier as his crew mingled with the other Runners, Kobra instantly starting some sort of betting game he's recently learned. Everyone were busy trying to learn it when Ghoul slipped out and found the redhead alone there. He had watched him for a few minutes, leaning by the back door, but Poison hadn't noticed him until he spoke.

Poison raised his head and turned to look at him, but Ghoul couldn't read his eyes with his mask still on. Still Poison gave him a smile.

"Who said I was brooding?"

Ghoul chuckled and came closer, until he was close enough to lean back on the car beside Poison. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the redhead who didn't look back, but stopped moving the cloth over the body of his car.

"So you left the party inside to come here and clean your car?" Ghoul crooked his eyebrows at him, taking the cloth from between his hands.

Poison finally looked up at him, he looked grim, like he's been thinking hard about something. He reached his hand and moved some locks of Ghoul's black hair that fell over his face. Ghoul tried to ignore how the touch of Poison's fingers, still hovering over the side of his face, made shivers run down his spine.

 _Damn him_ , he thought, _after all those years..._

"Why are you here, Poison?" Ghoul asked, his voice coming out breathless.

"I thought this place was a neutral ground for Runners to wind down?" Poison whispered and dropped his hand, though he still hovered closely to him.

Ghoul rolled his eyes, feeling better in control now that Poison wasn't touching him anymore, "You hate taverns, Gee." The nickname slipped out of his lips without his permission and he looked away from the Killjoy, thankful that the darkness probably hid his expression.

"Frankie," Poison whispered now and closed his eyes. Ghoul shivered at the name and was about to tell Poison not to call him that, but Poison came closer still, placing his hands on his car on either side of Ghoul, trapping him. He came closer and closer until his lips almost touching the younger man's, his eyes half open and his head crooked to the side.

"I want to kiss you." Poison finally said, looking into Ghoul's eyes.

Ghoul's breath caught in his throat and he wanted to say no. God knew he didn't have the energy to get involved with Party Poison of all people right then, but instead what came out was "then do," and Poison was kissing him.

The kiss was soft and Ghoul shivered at how sweetly Poison kissed him, how tender his lips were, how Poison's hands came up to hold him when he kissed him back. It's been a very long time since someone's kissed him like that. Usually, most of his lovers were Runners and the nights they spent together were mostly to unload all that tension their lives put on them.

It was never like this. No one's ever kissed him like Poison. He remembered now.

"Gee," Ghoul whispered when Poison let go of him and had his forehead pressed to his. Ghoul's breaths were coming fast and he didn't have it in him to push Poison's hands away as they went through his hair,going in for another kiss.

"Let's go upstairs," Ghoul said now when a another deeper kiss got his brain searing. He needed to get Poison horizontal and _naked_. He didn't care if Poison was going to leave the minute the damned sun was up and the sand was not even warm yet.

Poison was still kissing him, his face and his jaw and his neck and Ghoul needed him to stop so he could get them to a proper bed.

"Poison," he called and Poison stopped, burying his face in Ghoul's neck and instead of kissing him now he was hungrily inhaling him, like he was drowning and Ghoul was his last breath. He eventually pulled away, smiling maniacally and placed a small kiss over Ghoul's, his thumbs coming up to replace his lips, tracing the latter's. He nodded, a late answer to Ghoul's question, and held his hands in his, pulling him inside.

...

Ghoul woke up with a start.

He couldn't remember what he was dreaming of. It was mix of smoke and melting faces and Battery's high buildings that, as a child, meant he was far away from his home in the slums and in impending danger of getting caught.

It was a little too late that Ghoul realized he was shivering, sweat soaking him. He could feel his heart beating so fast it was almost out of his chest and he couldn't breathe. 

"Hey," someone said and he opened her eyes to see Poison's face hovering over his, his hands gently holding his face, "hey, Frankie, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here, baby. It's okay."

He knew it was just a dream. He knew he was safe and he wasn't in Battery anymore and that no one could hurt him now, but he couldn't stop gasping. He needed air. God dame it he couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air and his chest was constricting and he was going to choke.

He felt himself being moved and he was setting upright, Poison's arms surrounding him and moving up and down his bare arms and back, soothing him. He could hear Poison's shushes and whispers of his name, calling him baby over and over again, and comforting him as he gasped. It took a while but he finally felt like he could take a breath in and his heart stopped trying to escape his chest. He allowed himself a few more minutes in Poison's arms before he needed to get up. He couldn't stay there.

...

Poison followed him by the time he finished his second cigarette.

The small worn down balcony Ghoul's room had was the reason he chose it. He often sat there when his insomnia would play tricks on his mind and stayed up until sunrise, watched the sun come up as the heat sat in. He wasn't giving his back to the entrance, but he didn't look at Poison as he came closer leaning his back on the door, he was wearing his jeans, but his chest was bare. Ghoul could see him in the periphery of his vision as he crossed his arms over his chest and just watched Ghoul from far.

Ghoul has never been more thankful for the darkness that was hiding his face, his watery eyes and his shaking hands around his cigarette. He was thankful Poison couldn't see him so weak and vulnerable, but he suspected his show earlier was more than enough to show he wasn't so different form that sixteen-year-old shivering kid who barely escaped with his life that night too many years ago.

Poison didn't say anything for a long time, neither did he try to come any closer. Ghoul was thankful for that too.

"I knew there was a lot of reasons people liked coming here so much," he said after a while, his voice easily carried in the silence of the night, "the view must be high on that list."

Ghoul looked up at him and Poison's face was clear in the moonlight, his mask long gone and his wide brown eyes taking in the far lights of Battery in the horizon. He didn't look at Ghoul for a long time, and the later wondered if Poison could see him in the dark after all when his eyes fixated into his.

"I'm sorry about what happened in there," Ghoul started. He had no idea why, but he couldn't stand the way Poison was looking at him anymore. He didn't need his comfort, not if it was going to be taken away just as easily.

"You're apologizing to _me_ for that?" Poison asked, his tone understanding more than disbelieving, then added, much more quietly and unsure, "I thought they stopped."

Ghoul closed his eyes and brought his arms around himself. He took a moment to chase away the images in his head before he forced his eyes open, taking out another cigarette, lightening it and inhaling deeply. He shook his head as an answer and tried not to sniff too pathetically.

"Turns out BLI's trauma can't be easily erased, who knew?" He tried to chuckle, but it was laced with a sob. God, he _was_ pathetic.

Poison was silent for a long time again.

"Why are you here, Poison?" Ghoul spoke now, bringing his eyes up to look at Poison again. He could see him stiffen under the direct question and Ghoul stood up, walked to the other man and stood before him, looking into his eyes. Somehow, he wasn't shocked he still could read Poison so easily without his mask on.

Poison's eyes didn't leave his, "I need your help." He answered, his voice quiet.

Ghoul scoffed and looked away, "so you thought you could just fuck me along the way?"

Poison flinched and Ghoul felt the satisfaction wash over him as he saw the hurt flash in his eyes, "I would never—" he started then took a breath, "you _know_ that's not true."

Ghoul _wished_ he didn't. He wished that what Poison was saying wasn't true, that he truly meant nothing to the other man but a lousy fuck, but he could see it in Poison's eyes, clear as the desert's sun, it was like a knife cutting him and twisting inside him. He hated that he could still remember.

"What do you _want_ from me?" Ghoul almost sobbed.

"Frankie," Poison breathed, his hand reaching for the younger man's face, and Ghoul didn't have it in him to flinch away like he wanted to. He let himself be comforted by Poison's touch, even when his whole being was screaming against surrendering for the temporary comfort he knew the other man was capable of. It nearly killed him the last time that comfort was taken away, but he was weak. He's always been weak for Poison, no matter how many promises he'd make to himself and no matter how many years would pass. Poison still had him with just a touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? Let it all out, guys.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this story was going to be short. I lied. I started writing some flashback scenes and next thing I know I've written a 20k+ words as a backstory and I couldn't stop. The backstory is going to be published in two parts, one for now and the next very, very soon as I'm almost done with it. There will be a third one to finish up the first part and that's it. I promise. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sorry it's too long.

All Frank knew was surviving. 

Frank had never had a place to call home, not in the almost sixteen years that he's spent on earth. He had had friends and people who cared for him, but they all left. He had had parents, sure, because bringing kids into their miserable existence apparently hadn't sounded like a bad idea at the time, but he was alone now. He hadn't even known his parents that well. Maybe it had all started there, maybe he had never had a place to call home because he hadn't been meant to survive on his own, but he had. He survived while others hadn't. 

Frank's parents had disappeared on him when he was too young to realize it. Since then, Battery's slums were where he lived and did what he had to do to survive. 

Since he was a child, Frank had taken pride in being able to survive on whatever he could do. He had been a small sickly child and grew up into his adolescence to be even smaller for his age. People like him weren't exactly in high demands in the workforce, especially in a city like Battery where perfection in everything, even, or perhaps most especially, physical appearance, was of high importance, taking in consideration that Frank wouldn't want to work for the corporate scum BLI was in the first place. So, Frank stole and conned and scammed. He wasn't ashamed to admit it. He never stole from people like him. It was always BLI scum that were his targets. 

Since he was ten, Frank realized he had to compensate for his size with something. He was a good fighter, despite his small size, but wits turned out to be a far more useable solution than crude force. So, when he decided to trade whatever he didn't eat for lessons from whoever would accept to teach him. He learned how to read and write form an elderly lady who used to trade with him because she couldn't leave her house in the slums or take care of herself. He learned how to fix simple electronic devices from older kids for favors he could pull because he was small and often could hide himself well when he needed to. 

Frank didn't have many rules, but he had two that he followed religiously: first, never steal from people like him, and second, and most importantly, work alone. The second rule wasn't difficult because kids avoided him anyway, but they were never hostile, per say, towards him, often just ignored him. 

That was the case, at least, until the kids had started forming gangs. Gangs were smart, even he had to admit it, they protected you and picked you up. Other kids liked to joke that they were crews like the desert's Runners had, but Frank doubted the desert rebels would like being compared to common thieves. 

Still, Frank never blamed the other kids for wanting some sort of unity, especially living the way they did; hungry and scared most of the time. The desert, the freedom the desert promised, was a dream to all of them. Stories about that freedom and the sand and the sun were like fairytales in the slums. Frank grew up listening to the stories told around warming barrels at night. He only listened because he would never allow himself to hope for something better like the others did. BLI was their reality and the desert was a sweet dream, but a dream nonetheless. Dreams were dangerous, especially for someone like him. They were never leaving the slums and the rebels weren't about to come and save them. 

Besides, he believed that the whole getting to the desert and being a rebel thing has been too romanticized for its own sake. How was running away from BLI in that damned desert better than running away from it here, in Battery's slums? If he was being honest, the desert even sounded more dangerous, at lease here BLI didn't issue posters with your face plastered to them for everyone to see. The slums were safe with their shadows and dark alleys, safer than the open blistering desert as far as he cared. 

Also, the rebels being too keen on taking BLI down sounded even more like a fake fairytale than the desert being this great heaven of freedom. The idea of anyone putting their lives in danger to save people they didn't even know was completely ridiculous. A good story to tell at night to the kids, but a story still. There was nothing their miserable world promised but a lousy existence that required surviving at all costs. Those desert rebels were most likely too busy trying to save themselves to think about anyone else. 

...

Over the years, many gangs tried to recruit him, but Frank avoided them like the plague. He simply didn't need other kids to slow him down. He was knew smart enough to manage on his own, no need for someone else to care for. That was until he met James. 

Frank had met James for the first time when he was about ten and James fourteen in a fight. They weren't in a fight, at least James wasn't. Frank was, and he was outnumbered as the asshole kids who had a gang of their own gathered on him and wanted to take what he managed to collect for the day. Frank hadn't even meant to start it. He knew he was small and wouldn't last a chance against the older bigger kids, but the other gangs liked to pick on him because he was alone and was less likely to put a fight when they threatened him. That day, they cornered him in the street at night and began harassing him. It quickly turned to a physical fight once Frank wouldn't yield to them. 

Frank didn't know from where even James had come from, but he was there while Frank was on the ground and defended him. He was older and much bigger than him and so the kids didn't last long before him. He pushed them away and picked Frank up. 

Frank, flustered and confused, fought James off until he was sure James wasn't going to hit him too. He wanted to bolt, but James still had his bag with him and he needed to get that from him before he ran. He debated fighting James for it, but James was huge and had just fought off the three kids who had ganged on Frank by himself. Even Frank wasn't reckless enough to think he'd have a chance against him. So he stood his grounds and it was lucky that he did, because James turned out to be the best thing that's happened to him.

Their friendship was awkward. Frank wasn't used to interacting with other people outside of exchanging favors, and James was nice and appeared to like Frank for some reason. He helped him whenever he would see him in trouble, and would always ask about him and how his day was going if they happened to run into each other. 

When Frank was old enough, James started taking him to the illegal bars in the slums.

Frank had heard of these bars, of course, but he had never dared going into them. They were known to be neutral grounds in the city alright, where you could get as much illegal alcohol and music as you had the money to pay for, but the others would always say it was too dangerous; too many Dracs and rebels in one place for it to be comfortable.

James seemed confident in it though, and Frank quickly realized he knew almost every person there, especially the owners. Everyone would greet him with a smile or a nod or even a hug whenever they'd pass them by and Frank would stand awkwardly to the side, until he was introduced to everyone and they started treating him the same way they were treating James. 

It took a while, but James seemed thrilled to introduce Frank to everyone and soon enough Frank was as popular as James. One of the bars' owners, a tall somewhat old woman called Sammy, seemed to have taken an instant liking to Frank. She'd give him a motherly hug whenever she saw him, and she might have or might have not called him adorable a few times, but Frank would never admit to it. 

The first time Frank got into Sammy's bar, he was trailing behind James, ready to leave if he didn't like it. It had been loud and packed with people, Frank remembered that that had been his first impression. He's never, in his life until that point, seen so many people in one place at once. The music was loud too and Frank took his time to get used it. He's heard music before, like the shit BLI would sometimes play in the subway or grocery stores, but this was different and new and exciting. It flipped his entire brain around. 

Frank liked how loud it was, especially when certain bands would come on and play for the night and it wasn't just a recorder. He liked how angry it was, how, for just the couple of minutes the song would be playing, nothing else mattered but those four or five guys on that small stage, playing and letting everything they had in them out, letting all the fear and misery and just plain heaviness that threatened to suffocate them sometimes all out. 

To twelve year old Frank, those people were superheroes with whom he could feel safe and free. During those hours, and although Frank would never admit it, he knew he was as much of a rebel as those desert Runners everyone idolized. For all he cared, they could keep their desert and freedom as long as he could have his music. 

Frank started playing guitar in public by the time he turned thirteen. He had started learning the moment he realized he couldn't just rely on other people's anger to let go of his own, and by god he had plenty of that bottled in. He knew he had to make his own music to let that go. 

James, despite Frank's constant harassing to listen to him while practicing, actually encouraged it and didn't even make fun of him (expect the first time he first to hold a guitar and almost dropped it because he thought it'd be much lighter. It earned James a well deserved shut up, asshole while Frank was busy covering his red face and Sammy staring at them with a motherly look as she pretended to clean the tables). 

It took Frank a while to be able to save up enough to even think about buying the cheapest guitar he could find, and even a longer while to find some insane smuggler who smuggled luxurious items like musical instruments. Frank didn't even care about the cost, and a few days before his fifteenth birthday, he bought one after months of looking and secured it at Sammy's, because he couldn't trust keeping it at the abandoned basement where he lived. He was practicing on it whenever he had the time since then. 

One particular night, Frank got trapped at the city center because BL had closed the roads going to the slums due to some security reason or something. That night, he had made it home by three in the morning and since it was already late, he decided to go to Sammy's bar and coax her into letting him practice on his guitar. He knew the bar would be deserted at such an hour and that only Sammy would be there, but he walked in and found James, of all people, hunched over an acoustic guitar by the corner of the dark small stage. 

Frank didn't want to pry and had meant to leave the whole place, but James had already seen him at that point and waved him over. Frank hesitantly came closer and sat on the floor where James was sitting. They were alone, even Sammy not there. 

James looked sad, which was the oddest thing Frank thought he's ever seen. James was always smiling. He was always cheerful no matter what, and not even the BLI pills kind of cheerful, it was like genuine calmness that his presence would permit to others. It was so strange to see him on the verge of tears and Frank couldn't even tease him about it, he didn't even know how to ask if he was okay. 

James eventually started playing. The tune was sad and soft, Frank hadn't heard it before and he wasn't experienced enough yet to know if it was good or not, but he liked it. He didn't even know James could play. 

"It's a song from before," James told him quietly when he was done. 

Frank was too young to remember the before, before the Helium Wars and he knew James being a few years older than him couldn't possibly remember either. 

"My dad taught it to me when I was young." James answered the question in Frank's head, "it's called Who Wants to Live Forever." 

"I didn't know you played." Frank said. 

James smirked and Frank didn't know how uncomfortable he had been seeing James sad until he saw some part of his usual self emerging, "You're not the only one who's likes music, kid."

Frank rolled his eyes, "You're four years older than me, dude." 

"But way more mature." James retorted with fake smugness, "and much taller."

Usually, Frank would give anyone who'd say that to him shit over it, but seeing James joking again made him so relieved that he didn't even feel offended, so he just stuck his tongue out all childishly just to hear James chuckling and took the guitar from James' hands, just because he could. He strummed the beginning of a song he was learning still.

"Whatever, you're teaching me how to play that song."

James grinned, "how much do you pay?"

"My friendship is enough payment," Frank replied with a roll of his eyes.

James laughed, "sure, little dude."

Frank grinned despite the little thing and switched to playing a song he already learned just to fill the silence. 

...

It was a few days later that rebels news first spread. 

At first, it was a rumor. Someone told someone that someone heard that some Runners were in the slums, then it spread like wildfire. It seemed like everyone were just so sure that the Rebels were inside Battery's walls, in the slums, hiding in the shadows that Frank owned his life to. No one seemed to know why they were there, they just seemed excited at the prospect that someone who evaded BL for so long was there. They whispered it in the streets and the bars, it was like people couldn't shut up about it. 

Frank hadn't paid any attention to it at first; rumors like that spread all the time and mostly they were empty, but this time it seemed different. Even Frank had to admit it, the way everyone was whispering it, their tone as close as they could get to hope. 

Frank couldn't stand any of it. He hated it and didn't believe it one bit. Why would the Runners, or anyone for that matter, want to come Battery's slums and stay? Sure there were smugglers who worked for the rebels, everyone knew that, even BL, but that was it. None of them would get into the city to stay. It didn't make any sense. 

It about a two weeks later when Frank noticed how James was acting odd even for him. 

Frank often met with James at Sammy's whenever they could, and they would often check on each other almost daily, making sure the other was safe and out of trouble, and since James had started reaching Frank guitar, they met more often. That week, James wouldn't show up anywhere. He didn't show up to Sammy's, even on nights Frank was sure he'd be there because he loved the bands who'd be playing. Frank hadn't started looking for him everywhere in panic because Sammy, among other people, had confirmed to him they had actually physically seen him around, so Frank decided not to worry and that it was just the fact that they just kept missing each other that was the reason they couldn't meet up. 

It was the evening of a particularly long Thursday that Frank had made it home and found James sitting there outside the abandoned basement where Frank lived. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was really wrong and Frank didn't know how he knew, but he did. He came closer to James, welling his legs to move to his friend. James, upon closer inspection, appeared to be curled on himself on the steps leading down to the basement door that Frank had hid well so no one would know it was there except him. Thankfully, he was breathing but his breaths were shallow and he was visibly shivering, securely holding his coat around himself. Frank came closer still and could now see James' closed eyes and how his hair was dam and stuck to his forehead. 

"J-James?" Frank called fearfully. He didn't dare try to shake him. 

James stirred and opened his eyes, looking at Frank with half lidded eyes. "F-F-Frank?" he stuttered and a weak smile made its way to his face, "'bout time." he mumbled and his eyes closed again.

Frank finally let himself breath when he was sure James was still conscious, and finally welled his legs to come closer and he crouched down, shaking James awake gently. He needed to get him into the basement and he was way too small to even half drag him in. 

"Dewess, come on, man." he called, "I need to get you inside, can you stand up?" he asked when James stirred again and nodded weakly. He finally got up and draped his arm over Frank's shoulder, who staggered but managed to stand up properly and started pulling him in. When James had gotten up, however, his coat opened and Frank got a glimpse at a fairly large bloodied spot underneath it on his side. It took him a lot of self-restraint to not drop James, tearing his eyes off until he got him into the basement and closed the door.

Frank's basement was small, but it was his. He had filled it with worn out blankets and a half decent mattress he found by some dumpster nearby, and there were also some canned food stored there as well just in case. The only person who knew of it was James who'd crash there sometimes, and who was now bleeding all over the blankets Frank gathered around him in panic. He had gotten in alright, but fell down unconscious almost immediately. The blood spot on his side seemed to have gotten bigger, when Frank took his jacket off, freaking him out further. 

Frank's hands were shaking around the makeshift bandage he was trying to stop James's bleeding with with no use whatsoever; the cloth just got soaked with blood and Frank didn't know what to do. 

There were hands on his arms now, weakly steadying his hands around the wound. 

"Frank, Frankie," James was calling now when Frank looked at him. His eyes were open but his face looked too pale under the lights coming from the street outside. 

"James, I'm sorry I can't stop it. I can't— " Frank let out with a sob he couldn't stop. God, he hadn't even realized he was crying.

"Frankie, it's okay. It's okay." James gasped with an attempt at a comforting smile.

"James, I need to call someone. I need—" Frank sobbed again. He looked around him trying to find something, anything, to use to help him, then back down at his hands now covered in blood as well, "i can't. God, it won't stop." he cried, attempting to hold the bandage more securely over the wound with no use. 

"It doesn't 'atter," James mumbled brining Frank's attention up to him again, he looked even paler now, "I need you to listen to me, Frankie, okay? This is important, Frank, more important than anything." James voice was a little stronger now, and it encouraged Frank to focus. He nodded at loss of what else to do. 

"Okay," James gasped and Frank could now see his teeth staining a light red, he tried to focus on the words coming out of James' mouth harder, "I need you to—" James coughed weakly and closed his eyes for a second before he opened them and reached for Frank's hands, squeezing them weakly, "I need you to deliver a message for me, okay?" James waited until Frank sniffed and gave another feeble nod before he continued, "I need you to go to Sammy's. Find Shattered Art. She has purple hair and would be waiting for— for me. Tell her—" James swallowed, his eyes betraying him and already closing, "tell her the port has been compromised. Kours found it and he'll kill anyone who tries to use it. Poison and the others will be killed if they do. He can't use it to get the kids out." James said the last word and just fell back, his eyes closed, grunting a few times.

"James?" Frank gasped, panicking, "Dewess, come on, open you're eyes and talk to me, dammit!" He sobed until James finally opened his eyes again and smiled, his teeth fully crimson now, clutching his side. 

"I'm sorry, kid, so sorry. I love you, okay?" James said and Frank filled with dread that it would be over soon and he hadn't said anything of importance to his best friend . 

"No. You can't leave me here alone. You can't— please—" Frank's never begged for anything in his life but the thought of losing his friend, of saying goodbye for the last time, fell over him like a bucket of cold water, and he sobbed as he begged. He couldn't lose James. He couldn't.

"Frankie, you need to save those kids, okay? You need to tell Poison." James repeated and Frank nodded, "tell him I'm sorry I couldn't do anything about it. I'm so sorry, Frankie." He apologized again and then his eyes closed and his hands lost their grip around Frank's. 

...

Frank must've stayed in the same position, clutching James' hands in his for hours. 

Time passed by and Frank's head was reminding him of the promise he made, and yet he still couldn't move. He wasn't sobbing anymore, but tears wouldn't stop coming out. He couldn't even move; moving would make things real and he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave James here in the cold dark basement alone. He couldn't.

...

Frank couldn't feel anything as he ran. 

His eyes were stinging and his vision was blurry and hadn't he known his way around the slums like the back of his hand, he wouldn't have been able to walk twenty feet in his state. He was scared and the sudden feeling of sadness threatened to fall on him and crush him if he thought about what happened for just second, he needed to keep running. He promised James. He promised him to save his friends' lives and he was going to do it, his grief would have to wait. 

Sammy's bar looked the same from outside and when he got closer the music and laughter came to his ears. It all felt so wrong. How could everything go on like this when Frank's life just crashed before his eyes minutes ago? He wanted all to stop, but he welled himself to keep going, dragging his legs to the back door Sammy sometimes used to smuggle people in cases of raids. 

Sammy was busy shouting at a drunk man by the bar when Frank saw her so she didn't see him. He knew she wouldn't mind that he got in like that, so he didn't waste time and stood aside and wiped at his eyes angrily, trying to compose himself enough to look for the purple haired woman James told him about.

Eventually though, Sammy must've noticed him because she turned and gasped when she saw him. She came closer, her features instantly twisting in worry once she got a good look at him and Frank knew right then that he did a lousy job covering his tears, the blood that must've been covering him only a secondary thought in the back of his brain. 

"Frankie?" Sammy gasped and held his shoulders, her voice filled with panic, "Jesus, what happened? Are you hurt?" 

"I'm not," his voice wasn't shaky but slightly hoarse, reflecting all the crying and screaming he's done. He still shook his head in emphasis, the giant hole of emptiness splitting his chest into halves glaringly disagreeing.

Sammy was about to say something else but Frank stopped her, "I—I need to speak to Shattered Art," he said and Sammy's eyes instantly widened in surprise. He was right, if anyone knew anyone in this place, it was Sammy. 

"Frankie, what are you— listen, sweetheart, I don't know what James's told you but he—"

"James is dead." Frank shouted and it shut her up immediately. Sammy stood straight and her hand flew to cover her mouth. She stepped back and grabbed the edge of the counter behind her. "He wanted me to deliver a message to Shattered Art or.. or Poison," the other name popped into his head when he was debating telling Sammy what James told him instead, but no, he promised James he'd only say it to Shattered Art or Poison and he was going to keep his promise. 

"Oh god, Frankie, hun, I'm so sorry." Sammy said and her hand was back to Frank's shoulder. 

Frank allowed himself the one moment of weakness and nodded to her. 

"Sammy, please, I need to speak to Shattered Art." He repeated, determined to get what he came there for. 

Sammy nodded understandingly and sighed, "Art is not here, Frankie. She left yesterday." 

Frank blinked. He felt the dread settle into his chest. He was too late. He let James down. 

"But I think I can get you to Poison," Sammy said now thoughtfully, like she was thinking out loud, "I didn't know the Killjoys were in Battery, but if Poison's here as James's said, then they're all here too and I know how to reach them." 

...

They must've been walking for hours.

Frank's legs were getting numb and the blood drying on his shirt and pants was getting too uncomfortable. He regretted not agreeing to Sammy's suggestion to wash himself before they left, or even take a jacket with him, but he hadn't wanted to waste time. 

As for Sammy, she kept walking confidently in front of him, holding a flash light and making her way knowingly through parts of Battery's slums that even Frank hadn't been to. That woman might look old, but Frank was quickly realizing she was only weak in looks. She guided them confidently through the dark alleys like she knew them by heart, which Frank realized she must've.

Their road finally ended in front of an abandoned house that Frank never remembered even passing by. It looked like it hasn't been lived in since the Helium Wars with its boarded windows and barely held to their hedges doors. It must've been way at the boarders of Battery if BL hadn't found it and made it better yet. It reminded Frank of the stories the old people who survived the wars would tell about the life before, ghosts and vampires stories. Stories Frank used to love as a kid and stories he'd be very excited about hadn't his whole body was too numb to feel anything but the ache in his chest.

Frank forced himself not to think or feel or do anything other than focus on doing this. He'd have time to break down later, right now he needed to find whoever these people James wanted him to find and warn them, just like he had promised. Right that second, it felt like that promise was the only thing holding him together. 

Sammy stood there for a moment and then brought Frank to the side and told him to wait for her. He wanted to argue but she seemed to know what she was doing and he let her walk away from him. 

Minutes ticked by and Frank still stood watching the old big house helplessly. In the matter of another two minutes, he started getting restless. Frank was never one to be patient or stand aside waiting for others, so logically his brain came up with the only thing it could do, he decided to follow Sammy in. 

...

The house was as dreadful form the inside as it was from the outside. The boarded windows did little to try and stop the street lights from getting in and the floors were too squeaky, but other than that, it looked completely empty. There was some broken furniture covered with dust that Frank knew if the situation was different he'd make enough money out of trading that would keep him alive for months. He wondered what James would think about it and when his heart ached at the thought, he wondered if James's been there before and had seen the place. 

Had James been working with the rebels all this time? 

It came to Frank like a blow to the face when he put things together and realized that his best friend must've been working with the desert runners for a very long time if he was delivering information to them. How did Frank not know? How could he have missed it?

Loud voices coming from somewhere deep in the house cut through Frank's thoughts as he ventured into the house further and he was guided to them unconsciously. It was coming from the direction of old wooden croaking stairs leading to a dark basement. Frank didn't hesitate to take them down, the voices getting louder as he descended further. 

The basement was even darker than Frank's expected as it didn't even have windows for the street lights to get through, but Frank could see a door further in, some light coming from underneath it, and as he came closer, the voices he heard were getting louder, clearly coming from people talking behind it. When Frank was close enough, he lent his ear on the door and listened. 

There was a cluster of voices going around all together, but two voices were distinct enough for Frank to hear them clearly. 

"Listen, Sammy, I'd trust you and Dewess with my life, you know that, but this kid—" someone was saying but Sammy's voice interrupted them. 

"He is trustworthy, Poison." Sammy's voice came, assuring, "James trusted him as I do. If he's saying James's been ghosted," her voice flattered at the last word but it recovered quickly, "then he has been. James wouldn't have trusted anyone else with information if he didn't have to and he couldn't have trusted anyone better than Frank."

"What does his message say?" The other guy, Poison, said with a sigh, giving up. 

"He wouldn't tell me. He says James said it's for you or Art." 

Frank heard another sigh and the voices around got significantly quieter for a second before Poison's voice came once again, "Fine, I'll hear the kid out, where is he?" 

Frank chose that second to push the door open, and the room's bright lights burned his eyes for a second that he had to close them and blink until his vision cleared. 

Every face in the room was staring at him now. Sammy was standing in the middle, her face half turned towards him, while he whom he assumed must've been Poison was standing in front of her, his wide brown eyes also fixated on Frank. There were three other guys in the room, but Frank kept his eyes on Poison. 

"Frank," Sammy was the first one to speak, she sounded disappointed but Frank wouldn't look at her, only at Poison who was still taking him in with his eyes. Poison, other than not looking younger than even James, (and he was calling Frank a kid, Frank thought with a mental eye roll), was taller than Frank, sporting chin length red hair, in the signature neon hue that Frank knew was a symbol of the desert rebels. Frank was only now aware of the blood that must've been covering him, because Poison's eyes shined with sympathy as they roamed over his clothes making him feel too self conscious. 

Someone spoke, causing Poison's eyes to momentarily leave Frank and look at them, "you brought the kid here, Sammy? You know the rules. What if he is a spy?" 

It was a guy, sitting in the corner, long legs crossed and holding an electronic pad in one hand, the other pointing at Frank accusingly. He sounded annoyed and disbelieving, his long bleached hair falling into a fringe between his eyes. He wasn't even looking at Frank now but at Sammy who looked so uncomfortable that Frank wanted to punch the asshole for speaking to her like that. 

Frank gritted his teeth, "I'm not a spy," he called causing the bleached hair guy to roll his eyes and to bring Poison's eyes to Frank once again, but Frank didn't look back, still glaring at the asshole in the corner. 

"It's okay, Kobra." Poison spoke and the guy just rolled his eyes again, shaking his head. "What message do you have, kid?" 

Frank looked back at Poison, "the message is for you," he pointed obviously. 

The asshole with bleached hair scoffed and was about to speak again but Poison waved him quiet and looked at Frank for a few more moments, evaluating. When he moved towards the door, he only glanced at Frank, coaxing his head in the direction of the door and so Frank followed him. 

Frank quietly followed Poison up the stairs, feeling everyone's eyes on their backs once he turned around. Poison didn't seem to care and guided them to another room, except this one looked abandoned enough. It didn't have any light source except the one coming from the street lamps filtering through the boarded windows around them. 

Poison closed the door brining Frank's attention back to him.

"Has Dewess really been killed?" Poison asked, taking Frank off guard and causing a stabbing pain in Frank's chest when the question made his brain flash the images of James' pale expressionless face in front of his eyes, his blood on Frank's hands and all over the blankets in his basement. He shook the images away and nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," Poison apologized, his voice sounded sad and the lights from the street catching his eyes for a second assuring Frank how sincere he was. It knocked Frank off his balance once more. He swallowed against the lump forming in the back of his throat, threatening to break him down. He couldn't break down here, he'd have time later alone. Now he needed to deliver James' message. 

"Thank you," Frank managed at loss of what else to say and cleared his voice before stepping in, getting closer to Poison. "James wanted you to know that the port has been compromised," he said, deciding not to waste any more time. He could see Poison's jaw dropping, his eyes widening and he opened and closed his jaw multiple times trying to speak, Frank stopped him, "he said that Korse has found it and that he would kill anyone who would try to use it. He said that if you try to get the kids out through it you'll all be killed. He said..." he cleared his voice, "he said he was sorry he couldn't do anything about it," his voice got quieter when he decided to include James' apology. 

Poison exhaled loudly through his nose, his entire stance turning rigid and Frank could see the deep shock in his eyes, turning into sorrow then anger, but Frank forced himself not to care. It wasn't his battle to fight. 

"Is it this Korse the one who killed him?" Frank asked, his voice quivering even to his own eras.

The anger in Poison's eyes deflated for a second and he seemed like he didn't know what to say for a second before he nodded hesitantly, "most probably," he answered. 

Frank swallowed, blinking away the tears stinging in his eyes. He didn't say anything else and turned around to leave. He had delivered his message and knew who had taken the only person he could call family away from him, but he reserved that information away in the back of his brain for later. Now he needed to leave, he needed to tend to his wounds privately, he needed to mourn his friend away from everyone. 

Frank didn't spare Poison another look as he opened the door and left, closing it behind him. 

...

Sammy was still giving him sympathetic looks whenever she as much as glanced at him. 

Frank forced himself not to look like he noticed, like he cared. He didn't need her pity, he didn't need anyone's pity, not her or Poison's or anyone's. He was here to play, like he had been for the past two weeks. Every few nights he'd come here with his guitar and he'd play and sometimes sing if no one was there to sing along, then he'd go home. Sammy had asked him if he wanted to work for her temporarily and he found himself agreeing, not being able to imagine himself back to the streets without James. 

That was how his life's been going, work, guitar and bed. He didn't remember he had had any normal conversation with anyone that didn't involve two-word sentences in a very long time. Whatever, he wanted it that way, he didn't have the energy to speak with anyone anyway and hadn't he known Sammy was going to come to his room and drag him out herself, he would've never left the small room she's given him to stay in in the first place. 

Frank forced himself to focus on the guitar between his hands, trying to solely keep his mind on the process of tuning it quickly because he was already late and people were waiting. He played an angry song he's recently learned without any introductions, and played and played. He avoided looking at his audience and wondered why they cared to listen to a sole angry guitar. He knew musicians were even more scarce now, no one cared for music anymore in the slums, but it didn't explain why they preferred his playing in the place of Sammy's records. Frank didn't ask, he just came in on the nights Sammy told him to and played. He played all throughout the night, not minding his already calloused fingers stinging as the hours passed by. He didn't look at the audience as they got more scarce with time, making the distinct bright red hair in the periphery of his vision stand alone further. 

When it got late enough, Frank found himself unconsciously switching to the last song James taught him to play, and Who Wants to Live Forever sad melody filled the room, he didn't sing since James never taught him the words, but the melody was sad enough to reflect all the melancholy in his heart, it seemed so fitting to the way his heart ached, causing even Sammy to stop whatever she was doing at the bar and listen. 

When Frank opened his eyes from whatever place he'd gone to and the last notes from his guitar echoed in the room, he could see he was alone, most people have gone home already, and being watched more closely now. Party Poison was standing near the small stage, looking up at Frank. 

Frank would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed him, because he did. Poison came every night Frank played and watched him, he'd stay until Frank was done and then leave quietly, Frank's never seen him on other nights. Tonight though, Poison was the last person remaining. 

Frank's always felt vulnerable after playing, but the way Poison was looking at him right now, like he could read him so throughly, it made him feel even more vulnerable and small. He wanted to be anywhere but under his piercing gaze and he picked up his guitar hurriedly to flee as fast as he could. 

As Frank ran like a cowered from the room, he couldn't resist giving a last look at Poison, only to find the latter's attention occupied by someone else now, Frank recognized them as one of the others Runners who were with him the other night, not the asshole with bleached hair but another guy with a tamed Afro, and he suppressed the disappointment down his throat as he walked away. 

...

Frank didn't use to smoke, but he had started recently and wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon. 

He had started when the nightmares did and now every time he'd wake up panting and covered in sweat with distorted pictures still playing behind his eyes, he'd smoke to call himself down. 

Tonight though, he found himself smoking behind Sammy's bar. He couldn't stand her concerned looks and the alternative of sitting alone on the bed she's given him in the dark with only his insomnia as company felt, for some reason, even more pathetic when he would be smoking as well. He was sitting on his guitar case, crushing his second cigarette under the heel of his shoe and deciding on lighting a third when he could hear the voices nearing him. 

Frank was sitting in the shadows and so whoever was talking clearly didn't see him. He tried to remain quiet as he listened. 

"They're saying BL is planning on moving them very soon, Poison." A voice Frank didn't recognize said and Frank held his breath when he heard Poison's name, "it's a hassle to move them so they're waiting fort eh right moment, but it won't be too long now." 

Poison was sighing but he didn't reply and the other voice returned more persistently, "we waited for two long. God knows how many more labs BL has. Jesus Christ, ten kids vanishing on us just like that." The other voice wasn't complaining, they sounded like they were more thinking out loud. 

"I'll deal with it," Poison interrupted firmly. 

The other person sighed, "G—"

"I'll deal with it," Poison repeated, "just, leave it to me," he added much more softly a moment later, "I promised to get them out and I will." 

No more words were exchanged for a few more minutes and when Frank could hear steps moving towards him, he fled back in as fast as he could. 

...

Frank didn't know how he got there, but his ears were ringing and his eyes were stinging with the smoke all around him. He needed to keep going, he needed to find her.

The smoke was getting thicker everywhere he looked, its silver hue surrounding him in a terrible claustrophobic way. It was suffocating him and he was panicking, but he couldn't scream, his voice wasn't coming out and silent tears were already running down his cheeks. He was sure he was going to die any second now. She died and he was going to follow her. 

When Frank opened his eyes, he was staring at the dark ceiling above his head. He was panting and sweating like always, but this time he was shaking and sobbing too, that hadn't happened in very long time. 

His nightmares were getting more vivid and it was scaring him. He hadn't seen anything other than James' death repeating over and over again before then, torturing him and reminding him he couldn't save him, but tonight his brain apparently decided to find another way to torture him with images and memories he didn't even know he even had. 

Frank hadn't thought about his parents in years. He was too young to remember them then, but the vivid images that had been playing in his head only seconds ago reminded him that he did, subconsciously at least. He remembered every second of that night of seeing them die in front of his eyes in that tunnel, his mother's arms around him as she threw him away on a moving train because he was too small and would fit in. He remembered watching her become smaller and smaller as the train moved away. He remembered her coughs as the smoke engulfed her for the last time. 

And then Frank was suddenly aware why his brain brought up that specific nightmare that night of all nights. 

...

 

The shadows were good to Frank that night. 

The slums had always been Frank's enemy growing up, but when he learnt how to deal with them, they had also become his best friend and he trusted them to keep him hidden tonight as he followed Party Poison around the city in the dark. 

Poison's neon red hair kept Frank knowing exactly where he was, he wasn't alone however, two kids were with him, but Frank could tell they weren't his crew. He wondered briefly why they'd leave him alone like that, but quickly focused on his mission. He needed to talk to Poison and for that he needed to keep following him until he was alone.

Eventually, the kids left and Frank prepared himself to walk out of the shadows, but immediately stopped when Poison stopped walking abruptly and stood by the wall of a nearby building under the light of a street lamp.

Frank was so close to him, that he needed only a step and he'd be out of the shadows and in Poison's direct line of vision, but he couldn't get his legs to move. Now that he could see Poison up close, standing there, he could see his face and how tired he looked, no not just tired, but sad. The man looked utterly heartbroken, leaning his head on the wall behind his back, his eyes closed. Frank felt his heart sink at the way his features arranged in a deep frown. It was weird seeing him like that, Frank hadn't met the guy except a couple of times, and only one time of those had he spoken to him directly, but Poison's face has always been carefully sculptured, his expression always shinning with power and authority, now he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Frank didn't know for how long he stood there, watching and debating leaving all together and just go think of what he was doing, maybe even try to sleep for more than a few hours, get his head to think straight. What was he doing anyway, following Party bloody Poison around Battery's slums? Hadn't he already decided that this whole thing wasn't his battle to fight? Why was he so keen on involving himself now? Because of some stupid nightmare his junk of a brain decided to throw at him? 

He needed to leave, he decided all of a sudden, but then Poison suddenly flashed upright and his ray-gun, making its way to his hand somehow, was aimed at the exact spot Frank was standing. 

Frank froze and his heart jumped to his throat. 

"Don't shoot!" He shouted and stepped out of the shadows, letting the light of the street lamp show who he was. 

Poison's expression relaxed, acknowledgment settling in his eyes. He slightly lowered his gun, but still had it clutched in his hands. 

"Jesus fuck, Frank, do you have a death wish? Why the fuck were you hiding in the shadows, kid?" He swore angrily. 

Frank tried not to show his annoyance, especially that Poison still had a gun aimed at him now. He rolled his eyes instead, feigning nonchalant, "I needed to speak to you, but since I've been following you for the past three blocks, I think I'm changing my mind on trying to help a rebel who didn't know he was being followed by a kid."

Frank felt triumph at Poison's surprised face. 

"And we need to settle that by the way, being two years older than me doesn't really make you any more than a kid either by that definition." Frank went on and Poison rolled his eyes in response, securing his ray-gun back into its holster. 

"Go home, kid." Poison said now with a sigh, like he didn't even have it in him to argue with Frank anymore, and he turned around, already leaving Frank standing there alone. 

Frank planted his feet into the ground, "I'm not going anywhere until you listen to me." When he said that Poison stopped and half turned his face to him, but Frank could see he would not hold his attention for long, "I know a way to help you get those kids out of BL's labs and Battery all together."

Poison's eyes took less than a fraction of a second to turn from bored to surprised to angry and before Frank could blink, the Killjoy had him pinned against the wall, his arm pushing on his neck and threatening to chock him. Frank's hands flew to Poison's arm, trying to pull it away, but Poison was strong, stronger than Frank gave him credit for, and he pushed the latter up for emphasis until his feet weren't touching the ground. Frank couldn't breathe. 

"How do you know about the labs?" Poison hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

Frank gagged and Poison relaxed his arm a little, lowering Frank enough that his feet were at least touching the ground now. 

"I hear things, Poison." Frank chocked out with a smirk, causing Poison to narrow his eyes at him, but his arm relaxed against Frank's neck further that he managed to add: "does it really matter how I know? I do and I have a way to help you get those kids out," he paused for effect, "you still do want them out, don't you?" 

Poison didn't reply right away, just clenched his jaw and glared at him. Frank could practically see the wheels turning in his brain, debating what Frank was saying to him. 

"How?" He finally asked. 

"Now we're talking." Frank said and tried pushing Poison's arm away again and this time he easily could. He stood aside, away from Poison's arm reach and rubbed his bruised neck. 

"Tell me," Poison ordered, hovering over Frank who had bent down, panting and trying to catch his breath while still rubbing his neck. 

"Not here," Frank said, his voice hoarse. 

Poison clenched his jaw, "I don't have time for games. Tell me now." 

Frank frowned and stood upright, clearing his voice, "haven't you learned anything from what just happened?" He pointed at where he came from, "You're not in your precious desert anymore. Here, the shadows have eyes and ears. We need to go somewhere else."

Poison narrowed his eyes at him for a second, thinking. Eventually he came closer to Frank, who stepped back on instinct, but Poison only rolled his eyes and reached for his hand. He held it and started pulling him behind him. 

Frank was tongue-tied as Poison dragged him away, all he could focus on now was that Poison didn't have his leather gloves on, his hand was cold in Frank's as he pulled him away. He tried to tell himself that that was the reason why he felt a shiver run down his spine at the contact. 

"What are you—" Frank finally started to ask, recovering from his shock, but was interrupted by Poison stopping and opening a door a little further away from where they had been standing, revealing a dark room inside. He dragged Frank in behind him, letting go of his hand and closing the door. 

"You wanted somewhere no one would hear us," he explained, and Frank could hear him moving in the dark before there was a click and the room was cast in a warm yellow light, "no one will hear us here," he finished. 

Frank ignored him and just stared at the room. It was small and didn't have any windows, only some furniture; a couple of worn out couches with blankets lumped over each of them like someone has recently used them to sleep on, and some chairs and a table were scattered around, over the table were random electronics and a few writing pads. Frank wondered who lived there until he saw colorful masks and equally colorful chargeable batteries in the corner and it clicked in his brain that it must've been where Poison and his crew stayed in the city. 

Poison moved a chair by one of the tables, catching Frank's attention and the latter turned to see him sit down, his arms folded in front of him. He pointed for Frank to take the one across from him. 

Taking the hint, Frank walked further in and pulled out the chair, sitting across from Poison who had one of his eyebrows crocked up, like he was saying talk. 

"I know a way to get those kids out of Battery," Frank began, suddenly the rest of the room more interesting than Poison's eyes. 

"You already said that," Poison replied, not unkind but encouraging. 

Frank brought his eyes back to Poison's that were looking at him intently, listening, and all of a sudden, Frank was unsure of how to explain what he knew. He had planned on getting Poison alone and tell him, but now that he had him, he didn't know how to explain. 

"Before the Helium Wars," he began, "there was this system underneath the city, tunnels going to every part of the city and outside it. The early rebels used them to get out to the desert until they were bombed."

"You mean the subways?" Poison interrupted. 

Frank shock his head, annoyed at the way Poison wasn't getting it, "yes, but not BL's subways, at least not only BL's subways."

"The old tunnels? Everyone knows about them," Poison shrugged, "They're a fucking maze." 

"That's true," he agreed, "but with the right map they're not."

Poison's eyebrows knitted together and he leant his body forward towards Frank, "you have a map of the old tunnels?" He asked disbelievingly and when Frank didn't reply, Poison shook his head, "no way, BL destroyed those fucking years ago."

Frank closed his eyes, taking a breath, needing to compose himself, to keep the images of his nightmares away. When he opened them Poison was still staring at him, his expression half skeptic half hopeful. 

"I can get you out, okay?" Frank said, trying to keep his voice neutral and not just snap at Poison, his sleep deprived brain unable to engage enough for him to debate the rebel further, "I can get all of you out, and unless you have a better plan to get ten kids plus yourselves out, I suggest you trust me." 

Poison didn't speak for a while, just stared at Frank, his look reminding Frank of the one he gave him when they met for the first time a few weeks ago. He was evaluating him. 

"What do you say?" Frank asked after a while of silence. 

"I'll have to take this with the rest of my crew." Poison declared, but Frank knew that that was as close as he was going to get to a yes right then, so he nodded and meant to stand up. 

"Frank," Poison called and suddenly his hand was on Frank's arm, steadying him to keep him from moving. 

Poison didn't say anything further and Frank looked from his eyes to his gently placed hand on his arm, unsure what was happening anymore. Poison dropped his hand but his eyes didn't leave his, locking him in place. 

"When was the last time you slept for more than a of couple hours?" Poison's voice was quiet as he asked but the concern in his voice was clear and it made Frank's breath catch in his throat. What was it with this man that always managed to catch him off guard? 

"I—" he wanted to lie, he wanted to say it was none of Poison's business, but nothing came out and he heard himself sigh deeply, his hand going through his hair to avoid Poison's eyes, the long dark strands framing his face now in desperate need of a cut, "I don't know," he finished quietly. 

Poison was up and he circled the table towards him, he didn't get too close but he was close enough to lay his hand on Frank's upper arm, and Frank had absolutely no fucking idea what his heart was even doing in his chest anymore. He closed his eyes welling his brain to focus and not slip into the state of relaxation it was slowly descending into just by the Poison's touch. 

"Frank?" Poison was calling gently and Frank slowly opened his eyes to focus into Poison's very close concerned ones, "would you like to rest here for a while?" His question was soft spoken and Frank was nodding before his brain had even registered the question. 

...

Frank woke up disoriented, the nightmarish images still playing behind his eyes, but feeling more confused than scared really. 

He took a few minutes to compose himself and then looked around. The room he was in wasn't completely dark, some soft yellow light was coming from the corner, but it was dark enough for him not to recognize anything around him. He was about to panic, but instead, and very slowly, the events that led to him crashing on the couch he was lying on came to him piece by piece. 

Now that his eyes got used to the dark, Frank looked around and could recognize Party Poison's neon red hair across from him on the couch opposite his. He was snoring softly, his head resting on his lumped blue leather jacket, his mouth slightly open and his expression relaxed and for once reflecting how much of a kid he really was. Frank looked away to his lap and pulled blankets around him, laying back again. 

For once, the nightmares weren't as bad as they had been and Frank fell asleep easily, already forgetting all about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think? I poured my soul into this and I would really appreciate any type of feedback. Thanks for reading.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this took, life happened and I had so much to do that I couldn't finish this, but here it is; almost 12k words. I'm so proud of this part you wouldn't even believe. I hope you enjoy :)

Poison was there to watch him play again.

Frank tried not to look at him too much, but his eyes kept diverting to the bright red hair in the corner whenever he as much as raised his eyes from his guitar.

He tried not to think of the last time they talked alone. The night Frank slept on his couch and woke up to awkward Poison giving him a cup of hot coffee. He escaped the whole place quickly when the rest of the Killjoys were there and began speaking with each other while giving him weird looks.

Frank had talked with Poison again of course, but it was all while other people were there. They talked about their plan to get the kids out and what Frank knew about the tunnels. Frank was even supposed to take the Killjoys later to the them. Still, he hadn't been with Poison alone in a room by themselves and Frank didn't know how he would act if he did.

He didn't know why it was awkward all of a sudden. Poison had been acting like a decent human being allowing him to crash on his couch for a night and that was that. He needed to get over himself.

It wasn't like that awkward night was all there was for him to think about anyway. It should'vebeen the next to last, to be fair, right before the lifespan of fruit flies or something, and with all the shit he had to deal with over the past few days; Poison's general existence shouldn't have been such a revelation, but it was. Poison was different, so much different than anything or anyone Frank's known. He was vibrant and cocky and captivating and reckless. He loved his crew, always calling them his brothers, he loved the desert and always talked so animatedly about it, captivating Franks entire attention when he would go into one of his rants about freedom and justice and so many things Frank hadn't even considered before. It was always about surviving before, about making it through the day just to see another, but Poison made it seem like there was another reason to live. He talked of things that made Frank feel like music made him feel. It scared him to no end. Poison was like a breath of fresh air and Frank feared getting addicted.

Frank didn't know what to do with him among everything else that was playing tricks on his head, he was remembering things he never knew he even witnessed, and it wasn't helping that he needed to prove himself enough to sound credible, not only to Poison but the other rebels with him.

Surprisingly, everyone was decent enough towards him. He suspected Sammy had talked him up a bit among them before he had arrived. Kobra Kid didn't say anything, content with only glares in his general direction whenever he thought Frank wasn't looking. Poison seemed to genuinely care about what he was saying, asking him to clarify further on a few things and sending encouraging smiles in his way whenever he was finding it particularly difficult to explain. Jet Star was the kindest of the bunch though, offering to help Frank draw whatever he knew on his electronic pad instead of just describing. He reminded Frank of James a lot, but he didn't like to think about it much. He also found out that the couple other rebels weren't as informed as the Killjoys in regard to their mission's goal, which felt weird somehow, for Frank to have gained the desert's most infamous crew confidence so fast, but he didn't really have the time to question it. He wasn't there to make friends, friends that were literally leaving the city within the week, it wasn't worth it.

Frank knew he owed James that much, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he also knew he owed his parents that too. He owed the woman in his nightmares, coughing and crying, throwing him on that speeding train, thinking it'd take him to the desert only for it to end up in the slums instead.

It was still hard. He could hardly function with the nightmares and insomnia, let alone with the tension and anticipation that seemed to glow off everyone he met these days. Besides, he was kind of positive that the glares Kobra Kid was going to keep fucking sending in his direction was going to make him snap at some point anyway.

...

"Frank!” A voice yelled after him. 

Frank recognized Poison's voice calling him and he wanted to go faster, leave and act like he didn't hear him. He was tired and really wasn't in the mood to discuss anything with anyone, especially whatever minor defect in the plan that Poison managed to think of now. Poison, Frank had realized, was a perfectionist, in the sense that he'd specifically seek Frank out to speak to him alone over whatever his brain had decided that was wrong with their plan. Sometimes, Frank had to admit, he'd make good points, but others were just nonsense, Frank wasn't in the mood to find out which it was this time.

Frank was meaning to leave, but he remembered that he now occupied the room in the back that Sammy's given him and there was nowhere for him to run unless he wanted to go out to the street, carrying a heavy guitar case on his shoulder, which would result, no doubt, in Poison cornering him there and demanding to talk. It was better to see what he wanted now and get it over with.

Frank reluctantly put down his guitar and turned around. Poison was standing there, looking better than he did the last time Frank's seen him, not that the Killjoy ever managed to look any less than good anyway, he just didn't look as tired as he seemed to look all the time these days. He actually looked really good, if Frank was being honest, his red hair looking freshly washed and newly re-dyed, the locks bright and feathery instead of muddy and stringy as usual. His eyes were shining with something Frank couldn't recognize and he tried to act like he didn't noticed.

"Poison," he said in greeting, "something wrong?"

Poison actually looked flustered and he ran his hand through his hair multiple times before he started, "I—uh..." he stuttered and Frank couldn't help but smile. It was funny, Poison who always had something to say didn't seem to know where to go with that.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say I liked your playing." Poison finally settled on that with an unsure smile.

Frank blinked at him, at his smile. He wondered why his stomach decided to do a flip at that and why his heart decided to jump to his throat at the way Poison's lips pulled to one side more than the other, why the way his red hair fell in his eyes made him look something akin to a neon angle in the dim light. Frank blinked again at the sudden urge to run his hand through the neon strands, see if they were as a soft as they looked.

He blinked the images away, wetting his lips and tried not to focus too much on the fact that other than sleep deprivation, he must've lost his mind. "Thanks," he replied, his voice so ironically calm to the storm raging in his brain.

Poison came closer, and was now in the touching distance of Frank. He watched him for a moment, before he diverted his eyes away.

"I was wondering," Poison said and Frank allowed for the Killjoy's voice to break through the fog that was starting to form around his brain again, "if you could show me to the tunnels."

Frank actually needed a moment to understand, "now?" He asked, "I thought we were all going tomorrow, you know, since Star's sources said security would be low?"

"I know," Frank looked back at Poison in confusion when he said that, "I was wondering if you could take me alone."

"But I thought—"

Poison waved his hand, interrupting, "Kobra and Star wouldn't have let me go alone so I had to say yes when they were there. Truth is I want us to go alone, you and I. It will be less suspicious and way more practical, don't you think?" Poison was using his signature convincing tone that Frank saw him use on others before, the one where he'd make the other person do exactly what he said and think it was their idea.

"I don't know, Poison." Frank ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face and avoiding Poison's eyes, "Star's sources—"

"Star's sources were about security inside the tunnels," Poison argued, "I don't want to get in. I just want to see them. You know the way, you can take me."

Frank narrowed his eyes, the realization to what Poison was doing settling in, "you don't trust me."

Poison's eyes widened comically, "no!" He all but shouted, but then sighed, lowering his voice and looking around for a moment, "of course I trust you, why would I want to go alone with you to the city center if I didn't?" He challenged and Frank didn't know what to say. Poison seemed to have taken that as to have proved his point because he went on: "I just think it'd be less suspicious if it's just the two of us," he repeated firmly.

Frank clenched his jaw and thought about it for a moment further.

"Fine," he agreed, rolling his eyes, "let me put my guitar away and we'll go."

"Sure," Poison actually sounded relieved and even gave him a small smile.

Frank couldn't help but smile back.

...

Frank had memorized his way to and around the slums since he has been able to remember. He knew where to turn and when to duck his head. He knew where the shadows would change and give him better protection or less so, so he would need to stop and reassess, or where to look for the security cameras that would increase in number once he was close enough.

It was different that night with Party Poison trailing behind him. Poison wasn't a stranger to sneaking around it seemed, but he was a stranger to Battery. He wasn't used to stepping so lightly his footsteps wouldn't be heard by a soul. He wasn't used to staying in the shadows, or making himself appear as small and invisible as possible. Frank supposed he didn't need to in that desert of his, or, he supposed, he didn't have to with all that sun and sand that extended as far as the eye would see, simply because there was no place for him to hide. There, you'd only have to fight or flee, no shadows and dark allies to rely on to keep you safe and hidden.

Frank signaled for Poison to stay where he was when they got closer to where Frank knew always a couple of dracs patrols would be and, thankfully, Poison did with no discussion for once.

The patrols passed by and Frank kept on going, feeling Poison walking closely behind him. He didn't turn to look at the rebel who was now in the long worn out coat Frank's given him, his bright red hair safely tucked into a similarly worn out wool hat. Poison looked weird in colors resembling the soulless city around them, and, if Frank was being honest, slightly unsettling. It was such a revelation because wasn't Frank supposed to be used to such dull colors anyway? They literally made up his life and Poison was supposed to be the odd one with his brightness, tanned skin, neon hair and vibrant clothes strongly contradictory to everything Frank's ever known, wasn't he?

Frank was so deep in thought that he actually surfaced only when they were almost by the tunnels entrance, and he shook his head, clearing it and then signaling for Poison behind him to stop and stay quiet.

The alley they were in was narrow and dark and had a slightly far away view of the entrance. It wasn't as heavily guarded as every official tunnel used by BL was. Most probably due to the fact that the thing wasn't used in the first place, being a fucking literal maze, no one, not even BL, had a map to anymore, and so no one was crazy enough to venture through them without one. Still, with a few dracs pacing around, there was no way they could get any closer, not tonight, not if they wanted the news of the Killjoys being in the slums to remain a secret anyway.

Frank had been there before, it was an easy spot to attack lone supplying patrols. With his small size and ability to remain as hidden as possible, Frank would often sneak in and grab whatever he could put his hands on before the dracs would notice and be on his way. He had never gotten any closer, however. He had never had a reason to really, but with the way Poison has came closer beside him, their shoulders almost touching as he lent forward to get a better look, and although Poison didn't speak, Frank could feel his impatience to get closer.

Frank signaled for Poison to wait and came closer still, hiding himself well between a few empty barrels scattered around. Now that he could see better, he could see the guards around the tunnels, there was no way they could get any closer without getting caught.

Frank thought harder, they needed to see the tunnels with enough detail to have a much more thorough plan on how to get in, so he needed a place where they could do that from far. He needed to get them to a place where he could look upon the tunnels and still not be seen—

Of course. He knew exactly where to take Poison.

...

The roof toppling underneath his feet was natural to Frank. It was true he hadn't done that in a quite a while, but he still remembered why he used to enjoy it too much. He felt the cleaner air going into his chest almost the instant he stepped up there; the cold breeze on his skin and the night sky over his head. God, he's missed doing this.

Looking back at Poison behind him, Frank tried to stifle his laughter, Poison was so out of his element that he looked almost comical. Frank could tell he's never tried to rooftop in his life. His snickers got away with him when Poison looked up from where he was experimentally trying to place his feet, his face going the color of his hair.

"It's okay, you won't fall, just step quietly." Frank assured him in whisper, ready to come over and catch him if he did in fact fall.

Poison looked like Frank's just said the most absurd thing, "aren't we walking on top of someone's house?"

Frank actually laughed, but he tried to quiet it down, "it's alright, everyone here does this, we're used to it, just step carefully."

Poison looked like he wanted to argue more, but Frank signaled for him to follow quickly. Dracs being scarce down by the tunnels didn't mean they couldn't see them if they as so much looked up. Frank walked a bit closer still, ignoring Poison who still seemed unsure of what they were doing, and crouched down, signaling for Poison to do the same.

When they were as close as they could get without being seen, Frank sat down a bit further away and left Poison to his inspections while Frank just watched.

Poison was quiet, Frank would give him that, and he didn't try to go further than Frank's told him. He just crouched down and pulled out a small funny looking pen, Frank realizing a little too late that it was a camera when he started clicking it.

Eventually, Frank tore his eyes away from Poison, who was literally taking pictures of every single thing, and gazed at the sky above them. It's been a while since he's been here. In the slums, and in Battery in general he was sure, seeing the night sky clearly was a rarity; the buildings were too tall and the lights never allowed the stars to shine brightly like they did when they would go roof-toping. It was a full moon night, so the stars weren't as clear, still it looked magnificent.

Frank was a little kid the first time he dared going roof-topping. He followed some kids and ended up up there. It was a usual thing to do in the slums, a place to rewind or get somewhere faster. People often didn't mind, as long as you were as quiet as possible and didn't do any damage to their roofs, since it was basically someone's home you were walking on. Frank often came there when he needed to be alone. He liked watching the sky from up there.

"Frank?"

It was Poison and Frank tore his eyes off the sky and his thoughts to look down at Poison's face. He was too close, his ridiculously long lashes clear in the silver rays of the moonlight. Frank felt a shiver run down his spine at the closeness that he was sure had nothing with the chilliness in the air.

The moment the wind picked up, Poison moved the hat over his head, some red strands escaping the tight hold it had around his head and falling over his face, and now Frank could get a good look at the blood red dye running down parts of his neck and jaw, evidence of the lousy dye he must've used. Before he could think it further, Frank was wondering how it would taste against his tongue, would it taste chemical? Metallic? Or a mixture of Poison's skin and the sand he ran on?

Poison was saying something now and Frank tore his eyes from where they decided to fixate and looked back at Poison's lips, pulled in a smirk of all things.

"Huh?" Frank asked dumbly.

Poison's smirk turned into a smile, one corner of his lips quirking up more than the other, "I'm done," he answered, his voice quiet and his eyes kind. He moved the pen in his hand to show what he was talking about.

Frank's eyes snapped to the pen and then at Poison, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer he stared. He eventually nodded and looked away, whispering "okay."

...

The way home wasn't as easy as the way out.

Frank didn't know what happened, but there were defiantly more patrols around than before. He tried not to panic too obviously in front of Poison who seemed to have picked up on the general vibe anyway.

They were crouched in another dark alley now, watching the lit street in front of them as another patrol made its way through it.

"Maybe we should wait for a while," Frank could feel Poison's words being breathed over his ear and he nodded, deeming the shiver running down his spine a result of the sound of the dracs who stood a few feet away from them. He could feel Poison tightening his coat around himself, trying to further hide himself in the shadows. Frank prayed for them to keep them hidden and safe like they always did, but a few more minutes of waiting later, he suspected that not even the shadows were going to protect them form the scene that broke in front of them just then.

There was a girl, clearly form the slums by the way her clothes were worn out and how small and malnourished she looked. She must've been no more than fifteen and was being manhandled by another drac. He threw her on her knees the minute he was close enough to the others. She was weeping loudly, but the dracs only laughed in response.

Frank could practically feel Poison tense beside him, ready to bounce, and he realized if he didn't manage to make the rebel get a hold of himself, they were going to get caught.

Poison was a desert rebel. He wasn't used to seeing the way dracs treated people when they had full power, Frank understood that, but there were much more important things on stake here. The people in the slums were used to this treatment, Frank should know, he's taken his fair share of dracs kicks and punches over the years whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn't and sometimes when he wasn't. The people in the slums were just easy targets to the brutality of BL. Poison wasn't as used to it and Frank had to stop him from doing something too reckless that would get them found out, or worse, killed.

"No, Poison, stop!" Frank hissed, warning the rebel and holding him from his arms to his chest to prevent him from jumping out of the shadows. Poison fought him and Frank knew he wasn't going to hold him back for long.

"You're not risking the lives of those kids for a stupid act of reckless heroism," Frank whispered firmly to him and Poison resisted for a second further before he stilled in his arms, deflated, his breathing still audible in Frank's ears. They both watched now as the girl got kicked in the face by one of the dracs, blood shooting out of her mouth and into the streetlights lit asphalt. Frank stopped himself from looking away, he needed to get himself and Poison safely back and didn't have time to feel angry or sad, but he owed it to that girl to not look away. He kept his attention on the blood and the screams the girl was giving until the turned into soft painful whimpers when Frank realized she must've lost the energy to scream. Poison didn't try to break free again, but Frank honestly couldn't loosen his grip around Poison's shoulders even if he tried, too fixated on the brutal scene taking place but five feet away from them.

That was, at least, until Frank's heart was in his throat when he could swear he saw one of the drac turning momentarily from the girl and looking directly at them, and even Frank was positive they were well-hidden in the shadows of the alley, he knew that the fuss Poison made must've caught the dracs' attention somehow.

Tortuously slow, the drac started walking towards them, their weapon drawn out and pointed directly at where Frank was trying to hunch on himself even further as Poison seemingly stopped breathing all together against him. Frank knew the moment the drac was close enough, they were going to be found out and they'd be dead before they could blink.

Poison grew further frozen against him, and before he knew it, Frank was turning the Killjoys in his arms and attaching their lips together.

Poison kissed back almost immediately, his chapped lips only moving while the rest of him was completely frozen. Frank had no idea what he was doing, he didn't even think, he just turned around and grabbed Poison's head in his hands and joined their lips, desperate to disguise themselves as doing anything but watching. Poison eventually held on to him, bringing him closer and just kissing him back breathlessly, like he forgot where they were and what was happening.

They broke off when there were someone shouting.

"Hey, kids! Get out of there! Go home!"

Someone was shouting now and both he and Poison looked at them as they shone a light at their faces. Frank didn't need to be told twice and only the fear gave life to his legs as they sprung him out, clutching Poison's hand in his and running without a single glance back.

...

Frank's room at Sammy's was small. In fact, she had been using it to store smuggled alcohol before she cleared it up when she offered it to him, so it was even smaller than Frank's old basement, but it had a worn out bed which is more than Frank had before at least.

Frank opened the door quickly, his hands still jittery from the adrenaline, and pulled Poison in with him, locking the door behind them securely. Even here, in the relative safety of Sammy's bar where he could finally breathe, Frank still feared they were being followed. He lent his back in the door and only when he turned on the lights had he paid attention to Poison's almost manically grinning face beside him.

"What are you grinning about?" Frank asked, not helping a reciprocating grin from spreading on his face.

Poison shook his head, "nothing," he answered, although his grin was till there, secretive and all, matching Frank's. Eventually, Poison broke their eye contact to look around.

"So this is your place?"

Frank's grin flattered a bit as he looked around with Poison. "No," he answered automatically and when Poison looked back at him with confusion, his eyes all round and beautiful, he had to add, "I mean, yes. Technically it's Sammy's though, so it's just temporary. I used to have a place, a basement," he rambled looking away at the mattress and the blankets, "but then James was there when he—" he stopped himself when he knew what he was going to say, his heart clinching and his eyes threatening to fill with tears. He didn't want to be sad now, not with Poison all beautiful and warm and giddy beside him, the touch of his lips and hands still tingling over his skin.

"Hey," Poison's voice came, whispering, and his hand had made its way to Frank's face somehow. It was warm and it gently brought Frank's face back up until their eyes met.

Poison moved closer and Frank couldn't help but mirror him until they were so close their noses touched and were almost chest to chest. Poison was smiling and slowly looking between Frank's lips and eyes until Frank couldn't take it any longer and crashed his lips to the Killjoy's for the second time that night.

This time, Frank's heart was hammering for a whole other reason than fear, it was beating with pure want, want, want. All he could think was wanting more, more of Poison's lips and hands and skin, and he tried to show it in the way he kissed back, so eager to just melt their mouths together.

Poison's hands were everywhere, in his hair, on his waist, on his hips, pulling him closer. Frank's hands were just as entangled, and now Poison's lips made their way to his jaw and his throat, kissing and biting and tasting. Frank wanted to scream from the want for more, but he suspected that the small whimpers leaving his mouth were enough as Poison's tongue and teeth did wonders over the skin that joined his neck with his shoulder.

"Frank," Poison whispered, his fingers now spread through Frank's hair and his palms fixing Frank's head so he could leave multiple closed mouth kisses over his lips, "Frank, I have to touch you, please, let me touch you or I'll die. I—"

"Yes," Frank answered panting even though he wanted to laugh at Poison dramatizing, "yes, please."

Poison's mouth was already against his, barely kissing as his smile wouldn't let his lips close properly around Frank's, his hands pulling him in the direction of the mattress before Frank has even finished his sentence.

Poison was till smiling against his mouth as he took his shirt off and Frank mirrored him until they were both panting and just staring at each other, all previous rushing momentarily forgotten. They were laying there side by side, Poison's hand tracing invisible patterns over Frank's side like he was too fascinated with the new skin revealed to him to do anything else.

Frank's breaths kept catching whenever Poison touched him, and just about when he was going to just pull Poison over, Poison moved and was on top of him, pinning him with his hands and hips and hovering the rest of his body over him.

Very slowly, Poison's hand reached over, his eyes still fascinated as his red hair fell around his face like a red neon halo, and Frank wanted to scream at him to just touch him already. He was staring at Frank's tattoos, Frank realized when Poison reached over again. There weren't many, just a couple over his chest and two doves on his hips, but Poison wouldn't stop touching and tracing the lines of every single piece on Frank's body.

"Poison," Frank whined breathlessly and Poison's eyes were back to his. Frank was at loss of what to say, his brain clouding with desire for Poison to just do something, but then Poison's head dipped down and his tongue replaced his fingers. Frank let out a loud almost too obscene moan at the way it traced his ink very slowly all the way up to his mouth. It felt like Poison wanted to taste every drop of ink under his skin. When he reached his mouth, he started kissing him, slowly and deeply, and weren't Frank's pants getting too uncomfortable that he wanted to explode, he would've been content with those kisses all night.

"Gerard," Poison suddenly whispered between kisses. Frank, confused and his brain not registering what was being said, opened his eyes and found Poison staring at him, his lips only millimeters away from his. "My name's Gerard," he breathed into his mouth and this time he rolled his hips over Frank's and moaned into his mouth, his eyes half lidded and his pupils so blown.

"I—" Frank wanted to say something, wanted to tell him how much it meant for him to know his real name, knowing the level of trust it was needed for the rebels to confess that kind of thing to anyone, but Poison was rolling his hips against his again and Frank could feel him rock hard pressing against the bulge in his pants, and then his hands were pushing down said pants and all Frank could think of was how they were finally going to touch, finally skin to fucking skin, and decided everything else could wait.

...

Poison's forehead was pressed against his shoulder in the dark. He was breathing deeply and Frank could feel each breath against his skin, knowing Poison wasn't asleep either. Frank thought about how much he wanted a cigarette.

"How do you know about them?"

The question was soft spoken and Frank could feel the exhales Poison was making against his skin as he spoke. He knew what Poison was asking about but he didn't reply for a long time.

Poison raised his head up and looked at Frank in the dark, the only light coming was from the small window a little above the level of Frank's worn out mattress and it hit Poison's eyes perfectly, making the greenish irises more distinct against the darkness of Frank's room.

"So that was your plan, ha? Get me out of my pants and find out my secrets?"

Poison looked like he was actually going to start defending himself for a second, and Frank couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at that, causing Poison to catch up at last and to narrow his eyes, hitting Frank's shoulder lightly.

"Fuck you," he said, too good natured for it to be really insulting, and laughed, the sound too nicely echoing in the cold room.

Frank laughed back and wanted to reply with something lame like you already did, but instead just hit Poison back, who actually easily fell on his back next to him, still laughing as well. When the sounds of their laughter eventually died out, their labored breaths filled the silence for a few more moments until Frank reached over and pulled a cigarette out of the pocket of his pants, discarded carelessly on the floor. He gave Poison one when he reached his hand over.

"My parents were with the earliest rebels," Frank told him in the dark when his cigarette was down to half. He could tell Poison was listening even though he didn't say anything in reply, "they were both engineers who worked with BL. I hadn't realized it at the time but I remember now. They knew that something was wrong from the very beginning, when no one suspected anything and BL still didn't have their fucked up tyranny yet," Frank said all that in one breath and paused to take a long draw of his cigarette, welling his breath to calm down. 

Poison still didn't say anything next to him, smoking quietly and Frank weirdly appreciated that. When he was positive he had his voice under control again, he went on, "they found the tunnels blueprints and memorized the way out. I was too young, maybe six or seven, but they made me memorize it too. I remember," he sighed and closed his eyes, like he could see his parents there encouraging him to keep moving, memorize the maze of tunnels, "I remember them teaching me, but I had no idea what for or what we were doing," Frank realized he was going to get chocked up with tears stinging in his eyes if he went on any longer, so he masked clearing the lump in his throat with taking more drags out of his cigarette and discreetly rubbed at his eyes.

"Wait," Poison was saying now like he reached some kind of revelation and he probed himself on his elbow next to Frank, the cherry of the last of his cigarette glowing in the dark as he pointed at Frank with the hand that was holding it. "It was your parents who got the first wave of rebels to the desert?"

Frank nodded and avoided Poison's eyes even in the dark when he pretty much couldn't see him clearly anyway.

"Shit, Frankie," Poison swore, rubbing his face with his hands like he was still trying to take in all that, "I had no idea."

Frank shrugged. He didn't want to say that he had blocked those memories out for so long in his head because it hurt too much to think that his own parents preferred to die to save some strangers than to stay alive for their own kid. He only wanted to focus on the tingles he got in his chest over Poison calling him that nickname, on Poison beside him, warm and radiant in the dark, over the fact that he was alive and had a gorgeous boy laying next to him, and that for the first time in his life it wasn't all about surviving.

Frank turned around before Poison could say anything else and pinned Poison's shoulders with his hands, a soft gasp leaving Poison's lips in surprise. Frank smirked.

"So, Gerard, wasn't it?" Frank tried to keep his voice light and playful, but he knew some of the genuine appreciation slipped through because Poison actually smiled sheepishly and blushed at that.

Frank could feel him about to start one of his rants, and he had actually let out a "Yeah, well—" before Frank was kissing him, taking advantage of his parted lips to do it him properly.  

...

Frank kicked the concrete wall with his foot and just barely refrained from punching it with his fist. He knew from experience that all that would accomplish was fuck up his hand and even in his state of blinding rage, he knew he needed his hands intact if he was to keep the playing at Sammy's. Sammy wouldn't kick him out if he couldn't play for a while, but he wasn't going to rely on her charity either.

Fucking fuck. Stupid fucking Poison who couldn't fucking shut up. 

Frank couldn't even remember what had started it. He only remembered the firing rage in his veins, seeing red and just wanting to punch Poison and every asshole with him in that room. They were discussing something about how it was frustrating how they couldn't just tell already when it was the point that the security at the tunnels would be at its lowest and then someone cockily suggested they just attack one of the main ports and get it over with. Frank snapped that it wasn't that easy, and the asshole had retorted with an even stupider remark about how Frank wouldn't be even able to tell because city people were cowards anyway for not trying to run away a long time ago.

Frank was already on the guy, but Poison held him back just in time and he and Star dragged him out with force. Frank was still trying to fight his way back in when Poison had said something then that made Frank's rage sore higher that he almost punched him too, except that he had left before he let himself out of control completely. He didn't need Poison's pity or to listen to the way he was calling after him still.

...

Sammy's was slowly getting back into being as busy as before the whole incident at Frank's basement happened. It took a few weeks, but after everyone was convinced that BLI hadn't targeted James because of his connections to the bar, the usual crowd at the bar went back to how it was before. Frank didn't like how it was making him uncomfortable, but it was. He still played and helped around as much as he could, but it was getting unbearable seeing the same people James introduced him to drinking and enjoying themselves when Frank's wounds were still too fresh. 

It was unfair to Sammy; the woman who took him in and found him a job, but he couldn't help the way he was snapping at everyone lately. It was getting especially tricky lately because he had stopped attending the meetings the Killjoys held at their hideout as well, and being confined to his room when he wanted to avoid everyone made him realize how much time he used to spend at those meetings and he hated that he missed them more than anything.

Sammy seemed to understand at least and Frank tried so hard not to be too much of an asshole to her and so he started avoiding her all together. That was how she found him that evening. He was sitting by himself behind the bar. She snatched the cigarette he just lit from between his fingers with a "thought I'd find you here," and sat beside him. 

"No drunk costumers to annoy tonight?" Frank asked grumpily at his lost cigarette.

"Nah, I think you took care of that," she replied, not meanly but enough to cause him to wince. He hadn't meant to start that fight. He just snapped and it turned out the guy he pissed off wasn't as keen at respecting Frank's mopping as the rest of the people who knew him were, so he punched Frank and sent him flying to the ground and just when Frank was about to retaliate, he was dragged to the back by someone and only Sammy's shouts at him to stay out kept him there.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he mumbled under his breath.

Sammy shrugged and waved her hand, "don't worry about it." she dismissed easily. "I never liked the dude anyway, he always started fights and broke shit, good riddance."

"Sammy, I—" he hadn't realized Sammy had kicked the guy out; he felt even worse now, "you didn't have to kick him out. I'll apologize. I'll tell him—"

"Frankie, you'll do no such thing. Hey." she warned and called after him, grabbing his arm and stopping him from getting up, "it's okay, hun." she said when he stopped and looked at her, "the dude was an asshole and I needed an excuse to kick him out. I should be thanking you."

Frank sat back and sighed, closing his eyes, "I'm really sorry, Sammy. It's just been a rough week and I just— I know I've been an asshole—"

"I'll say," Sammy cut him off and Frank looked back in time to see her smirk at him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again for good measure.

Sammy waved him off again and smiled kindly, "Sometimes I just forget how young you are, Frankie."

"What's that has to do with anything?" He didn't try for that to sound snippy, but he hated when people did that to him, like he was missing this entire big picture just because he's been alive for fewer years than them. 

"I just worry about you, hun. I worry that you'll make rash decisions you'll regret later."

"What, walking away from the Killjoys?" He scoffed.

"Among others," she nodded, but Frank ignored what she was hinting at.

"I don't need them. I've kept myself alive this far and I can—"

"Frankie," she interrupted him, scoffing with a gently smile, "all of life isn't about surviving, sweetheart. I know our lives don't exactly give out that idea, but you can't do everything alone, you need other people, even when it hurt to be vulnerable with them, maybe most especially when that happens."

Frank scoffed disbelievingly, "especially when it hurts?"

Sammy nodded, "hurting means you're learning, hun, hurting means it mattered."

Frank opened his mouth to object but couldn't find anything to counter that with so he just looked away. Sammy didn't say anything either and Frank was thankful she let it go. She eventually stood up and gave him a pat on the back before she crushed her cigarette under her foot and left him.

...

You've got to be kidding me.

Frank hadn't even realized he's said that out loud until Poison raised his head up and gave him a sheepish smile, or maybe it was just because he heard him enter, he wasn't sure. Anyway, in what universe was it fair for him to be avoiding Party Poison and then come here to find him sitting on his bed? How did he even get in?

"Sammy let me in," Poison answered his unspoken question, his smile getting smaller when it wasn't reciprocated.

"Poison—"

"I'm not leaving," Poison interrupted firmly, reading Frank's mind yet again. He stood up and came closer, Frank had meant to move away but froze when he glanced at Poison's arm and... was that blood?

"What the hell happened to you arm?!" Frank was exclaiming before he could stop himself. 

Realization lit in Poison's eyes and he glanced at his arm like he's just seen it, "it's not that bad. Star said—"

"I don't care what Star said," Frank snapped, "sit the fuck down, you're bleeding." he ordered, surprised when Poison sat down without a word. Determinedly ignoring the killjoy's stunned puppy eyes, Frank moved to the corner were he had some old clothes, picked up an old shirt and poured some water over it and came over to where Poison sat.

"Hold still," he ordered and was surprised when Poison easily complied, holding as still as a statue and then flinching when Frank started to clean the blood.

"Jesus, who did you piss off?" Frank asked once he was sure Poison's wound was clean enough. It was clearly from a ray gun, judging by the burned flesh around it that thankfully stopped the bleeding. Frank ignored the fact that Jet Star was probably right after all about the wound being not that bad.

"I didn't." Poison answered quietly and Frank rolled his eyes.

"Fine, who shot you?"

Poison was silent for a moment and Frank irrationally wondered if he had lost Poison's trust over a spat, but when Poison looked at him as Frank fastened another piece of the shirt around his arm, meeting the runner's eyes, Frank realized that Poison was... was Poison embarrassed?

"I did," Poison answered his question before Frank could voice it.

Frank was confused, "how would you—"

"I tried to test your point?" he tentatively replied

"Which was?"

Poison actually grimaced and played with the edges of the makeshift bandage Frank made around his arm, stalling. He eventually looked up and sighed, reaching over for Frank's hand and holding it. Frank refused to soften, but his heart skipped a beat at the gentle way Poison's hands held his

"Gee, what happened?" Frank asked, trying to ignore how his voice lost its edge.

"I went to one of the ports and tried to escape unnoticed." Poison finally confessed.

"What?" Frank gasped once he registered what he thought Poison has just said, he couldn't believe someone could be so stupid, and Poison of all people— "What the hell were you thinking?" he barked, standing up.

"I know you think it's stupid—" Poison calmly replied which only agitated Frank further.

"Oh, it is stupid!?" he yelled, "damn right it's stupid! God, you could've been killed! You could've been seen!"

Poison was silent and only his look of remorse was what got Frank to stop, "You're done?" He asked.

Frank breathed heavily and just glared at Poison for a moment.

"Fine," Poison stood up and faced him, "I did it because I needed to know what you said was right, okay?"

Frank was on the verge of losing his mind over Poison's stupidity and now that son of a bitch was calling him— "You didn't believe me? What? You thought I'd lie to you just—"

"No!" Poison all but shouted, cutting him short and when Frank shut up, he went on: "that came out wrong. I just meant I needed to see for myself how hard it was. It is. For anyone to get out this place to, to leave," he was silent for a second, "Frank, I had no idea. I'm so sorry. I— I had no idea. You were right. You are right about all of it. It's impossible and I know i said I don't believe in that shit the older runners used to say about you guys, and I don't, but seeing it, I can only imagine."

Frank was still panting in his quickly deflating anger as Poison's words filled the space where he still could feel where the runners words have cut him the other day, and after wanting to punch the guy's lights out, feeling the urge to just run into Poison's arms taking over him was slightly unsettling if not totally irrational. Still, he could feel an instant warmth filling him and he wondered if he's gone completely insane because he was actually feeling better because Poison almost got himself killed to prove a point.

Instead, Frank went and sat beside on his bed, welling his shaking hands to reach to his pocket, pick a cigarette and light it. He focused on that instead of whatever jumble of feelings were about jump out from underneath the anger he could feel vibrating out of his body.

"So how did you shoot yourself in the arm?" Frank asked instead.

Poison visibly deflated too, sitting down, but he still looked at Frank like a wild animal he was fearing would snap at any moment, "well, Mikey punched me when I got back."

Frank let a humorless chuckle at that, "he punched you?"

"Well, yeah." Poison answered, his cheeks coloring in a shade resembling his hair, sheepishly rubbing his jaw where Frank could notice a nasty bruise forming that he must've missed when he saw the blood, "I was clutching the ray gun in my hand since the moment I left the port, sort of like a flight or flight response I guess, and it sort of went off when Mikey knocked me out."

Frank, in completely different circumstances, would've found this particular story peak comedy, but at the moment he was trying to decide if he was more pissed off at Poison's utter stupidity or frightened by the results of that stupidity to continue to talking to him.

Screw it, he thought and threw himself at Poison, hugging him and holding him like he was afraid he'd disappear any second, "don't ever do something like that to me ever again, get it?" He mumbled into the chemically smelling strands of Poison's obnoxiously oily hair. Poison needed a moment but hugged him back, relaxing in his arms. Frank fleetingly wondered if Poison's been this rigidly anxious since he escaped the port.

Frank eventually moved away and held Poison's stupid confused face in his hands. "I mean it, Gee, you can't fucking go into a suicidal mission every time we argue about something." he hadn't even realized he was tearing up until he was sniffing pathetically after he said that, "okay?"

"I—"  Poison's mouth actually hung open at that, his eyes so intensely focused into Frank's that Frank thought he could read his entire life story if they stayed like this long enough. "Okay." Poison eventually answered and put his hands over Franks, holding them in his, "I won't."

Frank blinked away his tears and in an attempt to wipe at his nose with his sleeve, the cigarette still between his fingers almost burned both of them with what was left of it, Poison chuckled and reached for it.

"Why don't I take that away?" with that, Poison took the stick away and crushed it under his foot, reaching over for Frank's hand and holding it in his, intertwining them and then examining the result.

"I'm sorry," Poison eventually said to their joined hands before looking up at Frank.

Frank sighed, "I know."

"I won't do that again." Poison promised.

"Oh, I know you won't." Frank said, smirking.

Poison was still smiling at their hands when Frank reached over and kissed him

...

The noise coming from the direction of the bar woke them up.

Frank had no idea when he fell asleep, but his nightmares still hadn't woken him up at that point so he must've been asleep way shorter than he thought. Poison had clearly been sleeping as well beside him telling by the startled look on his face as they looked towards the door.

The noise was getting louder and it sounded like someone was breaking something, the sounds of glass and furniture crashing outside.

They both had their clothes back haphazardly on, and Frank was fumbling for the light switch when he could feel Poison's hand on his arm, stopping him. He could see Poison's ray-gun ready in his hands as he moved towards the door, inclining his head towards it for Frank to follow.

Poison was the first out and Frank trailed behind him, feeling increasingly vulnerable without a weapon himself, and a little ridiculous that he would need one in Sammy's bar in the first place.

"Done planting them?" Someone was asking that, but Frank couldn't place the voice. It was authoritative and slightly strained. Frank had no idea what them was, but the way Poison tensed and froze beside Frank gave him a very bad feeling.

"We need to get out of here," Poison hissed at last, his voice slightly quivering and Frank didn't even have time to react as Poison already reached for his hand and started pulling him away. They were moving towards the back where Frank knew there was a small door Sammy sometimes used to get in and out unnoticed.

Shit. Sammy.

"No, no. Wait!" Frank hadn't realized he was even saying that until Poison stopped and searched his face panicky, "Sammy is still in there!"

"I'll get back to her, I just need to get you out. Come on!" Poison replied quickly and started pulling him again.

"I can hel—"

"Don't even think about it," Poison snapped, but then said much more gently when he must've seen Frank's face, "Frank, you're not even armed! I'll get everyone out, just please, let's get you out so I can focus on that, okay?"

Frank was shaking his head but he sighed when he knew there was no point arguing with Poison any longer, "I can get myself out. I know the way."

Poison was about to object but Frank shut him up with a quick kiss, "I'll get myself out and get help, just be careful, okay?"

Poison hesitated but nodded anyway and let go reluctantly. Frank could still feel his eyes on his back as he slipped out into the dark alley. 

...

Frank didn't remember much of the rest of the night. If you asked him, it was a blur of panic and running, reminding him of a much similar night he really would've rather having forgotten. The memory of Poison's lips still over his as he reminded himself over and over again that it wasn't the same, that Poison was alive, that he was used to these kinds of things, that he was going to save everyone and that Frank was going to get him help. 

All what Frank could remember after that was coming back to the bar with the rest of the Killjoys and the smoke and the flames, jumping into them, screaming for Poison, screaming for Sammy. Someone's arms were around him, pulling him out but he was out of it, until he finally inhaled enough of the smoke to knock himself out.

...

Frank was sitting motionlessly on the couch he had once spent the night on in the room with the soft yellow light. It looked the same as before, scattered papers and electronic pads everywhere, screws and wires and colored masks in the corner. It felt weirdly normal and Frank resented it for it. 

Frank had been using the worn out couch as a makeshift bed for a couple of nights now, but he still couldn't bring himself to move away from it. He ate (when Poison nagged him enough and he couldn't put much more fight) and sat and slept on it. 

He wondered if that was how his life was supposed to go on from now, destroying each place he would stay at for a few nights, getting the people who helped him killed afterwards, or simply to realize how much of a waste of space and time he actually was and just kick him out all together. After all, he wasn't of much use to anyone anymore, wasn't he? Even the only person who thought his only talent was good for something was gone now. It was so funny how life worked sometimes. You would think you would get stronger after each knock but it's only life's way of telling you the worse knock was just around the corner.

That was how Poison had found him, giggling loudly at his feet. Frank had looked up at him when he got in, he had stopped giggling, but he was still showing some kind of emotion, as opposite to the blank expression he had on his face for the past couple of days now he supposed. Poison was holding a tray in his hands as usual that Frank knew by heart now its contents and the argument that was going to follow any moment now for him to eat something off of it, but Poison stood still now, smiling uncertainly.

"What's so funny?" Poison asked as he came closer, smiling tiredly and sitting beside him. 

Frank shook his head, instantly feeling guilty and looked away from Poison's kind eyes. 

"Okay," Poison whispered, defeated, and put the tray down, "Star made the food this time. I'm sure it's much more edible than mine, so—"

"Why are you doing this?" Frank whispered, voice strained, and he looked at startled Poison when he didn't reply, "you have to get those kids out and you're sat her babysitting me?" 

"Frank—"

"I'm not a charity case, Gerard." Frank sneered and pushed away from Poison's outstretched arm, "just do what you have to do and leave. I've lived alone long enough to know how to go back to that."

"Fine then," Poison snapped, standing up, "we'll leave and you're coming with us!"

Frank might've been wanting, at some level at least, to piss Poison off and make him drop the stupid tentative way he was treating him since that night, like he was a china doll that was going to break if it was handled too roughly, but now he lost track of what they were even talking about.

"What?" he finally asked when what Poison was saying finally made it through the fog around his brain. 

Poison was about to say something but then there was noise around them and Frank realized someone's opened the door, he was still staring in disbelief at Poison that he almost missed Star still talking with who must've been Kobra.

"Hey, guys! You won't believe what Mikey and I managed to make!" Star said cheerfully, totally missing on the vibe of the room or the stalemate Frank was locked in with Poison at the moment. Poison was still staring, his eyes half terrified, half hopeful and Frank wondered if he was debating what he's just said, wanting to take it back. Did Frank want him to take it back?

"Frank, Frankie! You're with us?" It was Kobra. He was sitting something on the table now with the help of Star and Poison who was examining whatever his brother had handed to him when he and Star got in. He was not meeting Frank's eyes anymore. 

"Yeah, sure." he replied and sat back down, "is it something to do with how to blow up those barricades once and for all?" He asked, his mind going back to the latest obstacle in their plan to get out, and that seemed to be all Star needed to get into a happy rant over his and Kobra's new idea. 

...

Frank had managed to avoid Poison for an entire day, which was impressive, because (a) they lived in the same place now, and (b) Poison had made it his life mission to check on him day and night since they've brought Frank there.

Now that he thought of it, Frank realized he wasn't the only one actively trying to avoid someone.

To be honest, the only way Frank has managed to do that was say he wanted to help Kobra and Star fix the explosives after assuring them he was perfectly fine now. He wasn't pretending at least. The plan seemed solid and the new technique Kobra was proposing seemed interesting and Frank really wanted to see how it'd work out. He had expected Poison to put much more of a fight, but he eventually let him go and they've spent the day by the tunnels, teaching the other runners who were helping them what to do and where to put everything.

It was surreal; the whole thing of getting there and putting the explosives together. Frank had never felt so excited but frightened to his core more in his entire life, even stealing from the higher class people and BLI's vans supplies at Battery's city center didn't compare. He wasn't stealing something to keep himself alive now, he was stealing back everything BL-fucking-I stole from him and it felt exhilarating. 

Kobra was smiling at him from across the last bomb they finished together, Frank was still admiring his work when Kobra chuckled, "I've never seen anyone with such fascination with explosives before."

Frank felt himself blush and he pretended to prop the bomb properly before he answered, "I like the machinery. I think it's fascinating, don't you? I mean, you and Star spend hours on these things."

Kobra shook his head, "Star and I think they're necessary. It's different with you, you actually have talent for it."

Frank shrugged. 

"I think it'll be a great addition to our crew, your talent, I mean." Kobra added in his usual monotone that Frank almost missed it.

Frank's eyes snapped up and he barely kept his mouth from hanging open, "Poison told you?"

Kobra smirked, "no, he hasn't. I suspected it though, and now I know."

Frank sighed, "it's not that simple."

"Why not?" Kobra retorted instantly, "you have lost people you love and it's something you'll need a lot of time to deal with, I know, trust me, but we're still here and we can help you."

Frank didn't know what to say to that. He appreciated it, that Kobra wanted him to join them so candidly. He didn't know he had needed that validation until he heard it from him actually, but it still mattered, and he suspected from the way that Star was acting around him that he wouldn't mind either, that was if Kobra hadn't already talked to him about it.

So what was he waiting for? Poison obviously wanted him to join them and Frank was so dearly tempted to just say yes.

But what then? Was he going to leave everything and hop on the Killjoy's trans Am and just run into the desert, leave everything behind? But, what was it that he was leaving behind; a pile of ashes and a pillar of smoke? 

The questions kept playing in his head all the way back from the tunnels and well into the night as he sat in the street outside. It was supposed to be the last night before the great escape as Star has nicknamed it. Tomorrow they were going to break those kids free and get the hell out of there. Frank had been thinking about it so much that he only noticed he's referred to himself with those leaving way after Star and Kobra have left to get the final details in order, and Poison saying he was going to crash for a few hours before the mission. 

Frank thought about his slums as he watched the starless night sky above him. It was true that he's never exactly loved Battery's slums, but he was used to them; they were his home, they were the only home he's ever known. He knew every turn and crook there was. He had made friends here; Sammy and James and so many others. He could see them in his mind eye, their ghosts, in the streets or Sammy's bar.

Could he really let go of all that? And for what? For a chance at a foreign place he knew nothing of but that it promised some sort of freedom his slums didn't? 

But Frank wasn't leaving the slums for freedom alone. He was leaving it because he saw BLI take everything from him and he wasn't about to let it steal any more.

...

Gerard was softly snoring on the couch opposite Frank's as Frank knelt beside him. He looked as young as Frank's seen him all those nights ago when he offered exhausted Frank a place to rest, a boy he hardly knew.

All of a sudden, Frank could feel it rise in his chest; all the fondness and warmth he felt for the boy whom he had went out of his way to help so many times without realizing why, the boy he went roof- topping with and kissed in a dark alley with dracs ten feet away from them, the boy who held him and listened to him when he babbled about nightmares and dead parents and friends. 

Frank knew in that moment in his heart that he would never forgive himself if he let this slip away from him. He wasn't going to let that get away. It was so clear in his head that he wondered why in hell it had taken him so long to make such a simple decision. 

Gerard stirred then, his eyes snapping open when he realized someone was there, but closed them and smiled sleepily when he realized it was only Frank. He borrowed into his pillow and mumbled; "is it morning yet?"

Frank chuckled at the almost childish question and missed Poison's hair just because he felt like it, "no, it's not."

Gerard hummed and scooted back on the couch lifting the blanket he had around himself, inviting Frank in. Frank obeyed even with his doubts on how the couch would accommodate both of them. He ended up on his side, his head propped up on his elbow with Gerard's face in his chest, not sleeping yet but on his way to from the way he was breathing.

"Missed you," Gerard mumbled, borrowing further into him and Frank hugged him with his free hand.

"Missed you, too, Gee." he mumbled back, "'m sorry."

Gerard hummed again, "shhhh, 's okay, Frankie, let's just sleep." 

Frank smiled and realized if he didn't talk now, Gerard was going to go back to sleep and he wouldn't hear him.

"I want to go with you guys to the desert." Frank finally gathered his courage to whisper, hoping he hadn't lost Gerard into unconsciousness completely yet, and he was starting to believe he had, until the latter looked up at him, his eyes comically wide in the semi darkness of the room. 

"Frankie," Gerard breathed in disbelief, his voice losing the traces of sleep in it.

Frank smiled brilliantly at him and nodded.

"I'm warning you though, I don't have the first clue about what I can do or how to help. I don't even know how to fire a ray-gun, or owe one for that matter—" Frank would've went on further, but Poison was kissing him now and holding his face in his hands.

"I'll protect you," Gerard said between kisses and Frank laughed for the first time in days , "I'll teach you until you get used to everything. You'll see, Frankie. You'll love the desert." He promised as Frank laughed again.

Frank closed his eyes and smiled, allowed Poison's words to calm his wildly beating heart. He didn't want to think about it, but the way Poison was describing it, it made his heart long for something he hadn't even had yet. He didn't want to think about leaving the slums for good, maybe as some desperate attempt to hold onto some parts of his life that were gone but he couldn't let go of yet. James and Sammy and his parents, whom he hadn't even known, and Sammy's bar and everything he learned there, but all that was gone now and he couldn't bring his heart to ache with the pain of losing it all, not now, not when he had Gerard warm and happy in his arms, kissing him like it was the only thing he'd rather do until the end of time. Frank couldn't imagine himself going back. 

He knew he didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to go back to the familiarity of the slums, because what good are the places you loved without the people you loved in them?

...

Frank wasn't weak. He knew he wasn't weak. He had survived far greater things than this. He had survived losing his family and his home. He had survived losing everything familiar to him. He just didn't think he'd lose the only thing that kept him sane through it all so shortly after.

Frank couldn't break down. He knew he'd die of heartbreak if he did. It ached, it ached more than anything he's ever experienced before. It hurt so much to even think about, and he couldn't just file it away under things he's lost because he couldn't have a hand over it. This. This must've been because of something he's done. It had to be his fault. Why would he leave too if it wasn't his fault?

He couldn't even remember what happened, what had been said. Everything was a gigantic swirl of disbelief and hurt and holding back tears. He couldn't even talk or say anything as Poison talked and talked and apologized and fucking talked, his expression so composed that Frank wanted to to tear him apart just to see him make any other. He didn't look hurt or apologetic or anything, just cold, like a stone fucking statue. Frank would've taken even anger or disgust, but there was nothing, just Poison looking through him and apologizing.

There was something about rushing into things that no one was ready for and about the desert life being unforgiving and dangerous. There was something about Frank wanting to scream Poison's words back at him just so he could understand the bullshit coming out of his mouth, of wanting to tear him down or just kiss him into something that made sense, because this didn't. In what fucking universe was it okay for Poison to think this made any sense? Frank wanted to ask if he's done anything. If it was his fault, but Poison kept fucking talking.

In the end, Frank hadn't done a thing. He just watched as Poison didn't spare him a second look as he bowed his head, tied his fucking yellow bandanna around his face and rode off in his fucking Trans Am into the fucking desert.

Frank had watched as the car drove off. He watched until the sand settled and he was alone again with all those people that left Battery that he didn't know. He watched, telling himself he wasn't waiting for anything, that he wasn't waiting for the familiar sound of the engine to announce that Poison was back and that this was just a giant fucking misunderstanding.

After hours of nothing but more refugees form the city coming to find a place to stay the night like him. Frank knew no one was coming back for him. He was left again to survive on his own just like that.

He's seen Poison again, how could he not? When the tavern was finally open and runners started pouring in from every zone, the Killjoys did too. Frank had always been friends with Kobra and Star and they'd always come over to say hello, but there was never any talking about anything that meant something. Only quick greetings and a few drinks, and absolutely never staying for more than a few hours. Poison and Frank acted like they've never been as close as they were, like Frank's never felt those arms around him as a boy, scared and lost in Battery's slums. Like Poison has never cried into Frank's arms before. They acted like strangers, civil and polite.

Frank's never forgotten about them, how could he? Maybe he hadn't meant anything to Poison but a quick fling on some mission, but Poison had been his first love and first heartbreak. Poison had meant everything to him at some point in his life and when the Killjoys stopped showing up for almost two years and then one night decided to, could Frank really be blamed he sought Poison out of everyone?

...

All the tumbling reservations at the heart of my mistakes,  
Oh, some things you can't go back to, 'cause you let them slip away.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't forget some feedback? This chapter's taken so much of me to finish and I'd love any opinion on it. It's why I write!


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